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Chapter Text

Part I. From White-Hot Anticipation

Slughorn rattles on and on and on, pacing the room in tantrum. He’s like a spool of thread somersaulting down the stairs, unwinding disastrously. He’s all huffs, and wild hand gestures, and blurred, flurried mumbles. 

The inside of Sirius’ cheek is red and raw from biting down snickers. And his silence really is an accomplishment, because from his position (slumped in his seat, arms and ankles crossed), Slughorn’s ears are turning a striking, crimson red and he keeps halting in his pacing to look over at Sirius and puff out a sigh and rake a hand across his face and Sirius is nearly shaking from suppressed laughter. 

Minnie, however, is as stoic as ever.

Sirius looks across the desk at her and winks. Professor McGonagall narrows her eyes at him through her green-tinted glasses.

“All I’m saying is,” Slughorn continues, raising his voice slightly, “clearly detentions aren’t working.” 

“And what is it that you suggest instead?” McGonagall asks flatly.

Slughorn turns to face McGonagall, revealing a pink patch of hair at the nape of his neck. Sirius winces as his teeth clamp down on the open wound of his cheek.

“Well,” Slughorn says, “Everett, Pince’s assistant, took leave to complete research on billywigs. Perhaps, in the meantime, the boy could help out Madam Pince.”

“What?” Sirius splutters (no longer slumped in his seat, arms and ankles no longer crossed), “The library? You have got to be kidding me.”

Sirius looks to Minnie for support, surely she’ll agree this is ridiculous . But he’s met with gleaming eyes and a twitching lip, which, for Professor McGonagall , might as well be a full-on smirk. Sirius groans, returning to position (slumped in his seat, arms and ankles crossed). 

***

Next Monday Sirius finds himself in the library as Madam Pince loads his arms with books. “This one goes in Potions, these two in the biography section, this one in wizarding politics, this one in French literature, these two in muggle studies, these two in Herbology, this one in magical creatures, and this one specifically goes in the dragon section.” She doesn’t stop until the tower of books reaches above Sirius’ head. “You know where all those sections are, right?”

Sirius snakes his head around the tower of books. “Of course,” he says, which is, of course, a complete lie. Sirius sends her a wink and what he hopes is a winning smile. Madam Pince breathes in deeply and turns on her heel, muttering something about this being more of a punishment for her than for him.

Sirius wanders aimlessly around the library dropping off books whenever he finds an open slot on one of the shelves. Occasionally the shelves will spit the book out onto the floor, but occasionally he will place a book in an empty slot and the surrounding books will settle themselves closer to it, welcoming it in like an old friend. Sirius assumes this means he found the right section and calls it a job well done. 

Slowly but surely the tower of books becomes smaller and the feeling in Sirius’ arms gradually returns. He makes his way down another aisle and reaches over to place one of the Herbology books into an open slot. The shelf makes a retching sound and promptly —and rather violently, Sirius might add— spits it out. In addition, the two books he had tried to squeeze it between start cursing in French. Right, so not Herbology. French literature then. 

Sirius bends down to pick up the book and, upon standing, spots a boy in the window of the open slot. He’s backlit, a golden halo enveloping itself around him and his auburn curls. Sirius watches as the boy, nose tucked into a book, easily navigates his way around the shelves. The dust motes around him seem to scamper out of the golden boy’s way, making room for him. 

And then the boy, perhaps sensing Sirius’ gaze, looks up and Sirius quickly ducks down to avoid being caught.

The movement, however, is awkward and stilted and the books in Sirius' hands clatter to the floor, a couple of them hitting the shelves on their way down. Instantly, at least a dozen French books start cursing at him. And one of the books he had dropped starts nipping at his heels. Like literally nipping, it has teeth.

“Shit! Merde!” Sirius curses, joining in with the chorus of French books around him as he attempts to stomp his foot down on of the fucking monster book from hell.

“Everett,” a voice cheerily calls, rounding the corner, “I thought we agreed it was best not to fight with the books. Especially the French ones, they can be quite nasty.” 

With a firm footing on the fucking monster book from hell, Sirius looks up to find golden boy standing there, the dust motes buzzing around him.

“You’re not Everett,” golden boy says, tilting his head. He has a scar running across his cheek to his lip and, at this angle, the scar tissue catches the light, creating a stream of gold across his face. Sirius sucks in a breath.

“No.”

“Where is he?”

“Gone.”

“Gone?”

“Yeah,” Sirius cringes, why is he being so awkward? “Something about billywigs. Anyways, I’m filling in for him. It was this or detention.”

“This or detention?”

Christ, golden boy didn’t need to repeat everything he said, he already felt idiotic enough.  

“Yeah, you know how last week all the Slytherins showed up to the Great Hall with pink hair?” Sirius leans in conspiratorially, finally something that will make him look cool, “That was me.”

“That was you,” golden boy repeats. He sounds distressingly unimpressed. 

“Yeah.” Sirius squares his shoulders. 

“And you’re proud of that?”

“Yeah...” His shoulders deflate a bit. Uncharacteristically, he is now quite unsure of himself. He scans golden boy’s robes; Perhaps golden boy is a Slytherin. But he finds a Ravenclaw patch and a bloody prefect badge to boot. So not a Slytherin planning how best to hex him, just a bloody swot . 

“Hmm well it’s just that hair altering charms are very second year, no?” Sirius scoffs; finding out how to charm all of Slytherin’s hair in one go was actually quite complicated magic, thank you very much. But golden boy continues: “It’s pretty easy to reverse them once you find out what spell the caster used. Or if all else fails they could just dye it back. But, I don’t know, if you had charmed the Slytherin robes to Gryffindor colors, say, the morning of a Slytherin versus Gryffindor match, that would be harder to reverse. Fabric altering charms are harder to manipulate especially when there’s multiple colors involved.”

Sirius' mouth hangs open. He’s pretty sure he’s swallowing down dust motes. 

Golden boy’s eyes travel down Sirius’ body until they reach his steel-toed boot struggling to prevent the fucking monster book from hell from amputating his ankle.

Golden boy smirks and then bends down to rifle through the books on the bottom shelf. The French books don’t curse at him, Sirius heeds reproachfully. 

“I’m Sirius.”

Golden boy hums. “About what?”

“No, my name. It’s Sirius.”

Golden boy’s eyebrows pinch together. “That’s an odd name,” he says, standing up and brushing the dust from his trousers. “Can you tell Pince I liked the last book she got me and ask her if she can get some more?” Golden boy turns around and starts walking away.

“Uh, sure. Who should I tell her is asking?” Sirius calls after him. He can’t move or he’ll risk setting the monster book from hell loose.

“She’ll know,” he calls back, “Oh, and if you’d like to keep your foot attached to your body, you have to stroke the book’s spine. It’ll calm it down.” And then golden boy is gone.

***

Sirius can’t decide if golden boy is more irritating or more intriguing. And as he ponders this over his morning eggs he looks up and there he is. Until yesterday he had never seen this boy in his life, and now he just appears right when Sirius is thinking about him. Irritating or intriguing? Sirius can’t decide.

Golden boy is wearing a thick brown sweater and green corduroys under his robes. His wrists and ankles peeking out of each, his limbs far too long. Sirius stares at the exposed, milky skin and at the tiny white scars poking out of golden boy’s clothes. 

Lily Evans is talking to the boy animatedly, gesticulating wildly with her hands, which are full of small posters. Golden boy is shaking his head and smiling down at her in amusement as he leans against the wall, his legs casually crossed.  

Sirius kicks James from under the table. “Who’s that guy Evans is talking to?” 

“Huh,” James drops his fork in alarm and whips his head around. Something loud and sharp cracks in his neck. “Oh,” James’ shoulders relax as he returns back to his eggs, “that’s Remus.”

“Remus?”

James shoots Sirius a funny look. “Yeah, he’s in our Transfiguration class.”

“He sits in the back,” Peter adds through a mouthful of toast. 

Across the Great Hall golden boy laughs at something Evans says. It causes a shift in the tectonic plates beneath them, a crack tearing apart the floorboards of the Great Hall splintering all the way to Sirius’ feet. Sirius’ head snaps up. He watches the pair of them with pursed lips. “You’re not worried about him whisking Evans away?”

James and Peter both look at each other and laugh, presumably knowing another thing that he doesn’t. Sirius waits, arms folded. He doesn’t find it funny.

“He’s gay,” James says eventually.

“Dated Dirk Cresswell for like two years,” Peter adds.

Sirius blinks at them. How do they know so much about this bloke?  

When Sirius looks back up, Remus is gone. Lily, however, is making her way towards their table. She stops right behind James, who doesn’t seem to notice. Sirius snorts as James continues to —very, unattractively— shovel eggs into his face.

Peter nudges James in the ribs. “Ow,” James turns to Peter, “What the fuck?”

Peter, eyes wide, nudges his chin in the direction of Lily. With furrowed brows, James turns around and his defensive posture instantly deflates.

“Lily!” he chirps a little too loudly. Sirius winces. Lily gives him a small smile that looks like it’s causing her a lot of pain. James returns it with an eager, over-enthusiastic smile of his own. 

“Hi,” the Hufflepuff girl says, looking like she’s regretting this already, “look, I’m— well I’m starting this club. A gardening club. Sprout said if I clear out the old greenhouse, I can use it. And, well, I’m inviting everyone, so…” Lily is careful to put emphasis on the ‘everyone.’ James doesn’t seem to notice. He shakes his head encouragingly like one of those muggle bobble head toys.

Lily looks like she’s trying very hard to hide a genuine smile. Sirius catches Peter’s eye across the table. Peter is blotchy-faced from stifling a laugh. Sirius is sure he looks quite the same.

“Right, so, anyway I’m holding an info session next week so you can learn more about it. Sprout says anyone who attends will get extra credit in Herbology.” Lily hands out a poster to both Peter and James, who both take it —James perhaps too eagerly. Lily offers one to Sirius, but he declines. “Sorry, I’m busy that day.” 

Lily narrows her eyes. “I didn’t say what day it was.”

Sirius shrugs. “Busy the whole week, really.”

“Well, I’ll be there!” James proclaims eagerly.

“Awesome,” Lily says, nodding at him, “See you there.” And then she’s off, tracking down her next victim. 

“Wow,” James says, holding the poster with two hands, looking at it like it’s the eighth wonder of the world. And maybe it is, because ‘ everyone’ for Lily Evans usually does not include James Potter. 

***

"Today in Transfiguration,” Minnie states, “the pawn becomes the queen. Pay close attention to see the weakest piece become the strongest. While the practical application is ill advised, the technique will further your skill in this class. Please do not use this to cheat in chess.” Sirius perks up at that. Not a bad idea.

Professor McGonagall looks over at him and sighs.

After her demonstration, Minnie has everyone try out the spell themselves, all to varying degrees of success. James and Sirius get it after a few tries. Peter, however, keeps turning his pawn into figures that resemble little gnomes.

At the end of class, Minnie has the students read through the next chapter in their textbook.

One page in, Sirius is already losing interest. There’s an itch crawling up his spine that A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration can’t quite reach. He turns in his seat to look over his shoulder, and, sure enough, there in the back of the classroom, is Remus. His sweater-clad elbows resting on the table as he reads his book, his bottom lip between his teeth, his brows furrowed in concentration. 

Sirius watches as amber eyes scan over the words on the page. When Remus releases his bottom lip, Sirius swears he can hear the wet ‘pop’ from all the way across the room.

“Ahem,” Professor McGonagall clears her throat. 

Sirius turns back around and shoots her a smile. Professor McGonall shakes her head at him in disapproval.

Reluctantly, he ducks his head and returns to reading. His eyes scan the page, but his brain isn’t taking in any of the information.

Instead his head is clouded with thoughts of white scars, amber eyes, honey-colored freckles, and red, wet lips. Irritating or intriguing? Sirius isn’t sure.

***

The next day Madam Pince hands Sirius a stack of books and tells him that they are for the boy that was asking for them yesterday. The boy he now knows is Remus. 

A quick walk through the library reveals Remus is nowhere to be found, so Sirius settles himself into one of the dusty chairs in a corner and kicks his feet up onto the nearby side table. 

He rifles through the books ( Maurice by E. M. Forster, Giovanni’s Room by James Baldwin, and a couple others; all muggle books, he notes confoundingly). He scans the back summaries and flips through the pages, reading passages at random. His cheeks heat as he realizes what they all have in common and he shuts the books close. 

Sirius decides to start heading to the front desk. Maybe Pince will let him leave early seeing that there’s nothing for him to do.

On his way back, he hears a small cough, a small choking little thing and he turns his head towards it, down the long, slanted aisle of shelves and spots Remus sitting at one of the tables, surrounded by open textbooks.

He watches, half-hidden by the shelves, as Remus reads through the book in front of him, his long, slender fingers twiddling his quill causing little spurts of ink to fly everywhere, some spotting his face alongside honey freckles. 

Remus leans forward, his elbow coming to rest on the table as he props up his head with his hand, causing the black ink on his cheek to smudge. 

Sirius walks forward. “Hi,” he says, a few feet away. 

Remus looks up, face blank until his eyes reach Sirius’ and a small smile etches his features. When Remus smiles, the smudge on his cheek raises, almost reaching the bottom of his eye. For one horrifying second, Sirius thinks about wetting his own thumb and reaching across the table to rub it off. He shakes his head roughly and looks back down at the books in his hands. “Pince left these for you,” he says, setting them down on Remus’ table. 

“Cheers!” Remus sends him another smile before returning to his textbook. Sirius just stands there, feeling weird and like his skin is two sizes too big and then he realizes he doesn’t need to be there or rather, he doesn’t have an excuse to be there —he’s already dropped off the books and Remus is perfectly capable of rubbing off his own ink smudges— so he turns on his heel to leave. 

“I’m Remus by the way.”

Sirius pivots back. “Yeah, I know.”

Remus quirks an eyebrow. “Asking after me, have you?”

Sirius shrugs.

Remus smiles at him like he knows something Sirius doesn’t. “Are you going to Lily’s gardening club next week?”

“Huh?”

Remus shrugs. “I saw Lily talking to you in the Great Hall.”

“Watching me, have you?”

“Yes,” Remus replies easily and Sirius is taken back by the bluntness. He blinks at him and stands there feeling itchy and vacuous and a lot like he’s made of paper and someone just came by and blew at him.

“So, you going?” Remus asks around a smile. 

“I— maybe?” Sirius sounds unsure. And he is unsure; unsure about what’s exactly happening right now; unsure why he’s agreeing to going to a gardening club when just yesterday he had scoffed at the idea; unsure why his palms are suddenly sweaty; unsure why his heart is hammering in his chest.  

“Are you?” Sirius thinks he asks, but he can’t be certain because he can’t hear anything over the heartbeat in his ears. But he must have said it because Remus is saying, “Maybe,” with a little smile like he knows exactly what’s going on right now, like he’s not unsure at all. And then he returns his attention back to his book and his notes and Sirius turns on his heel and walks away, still confused.

***

The abandoned greenhouse smells like mildew and rotting wood. There’s streamers running across the ceiling, where Lily must have hung them earlier, but they’re sagging now under the weight of humidity. And, to really set the mood, in the corner there’s a couple pots overgrown with nettles, despite being in the shade, where a cluster of glumbumbles seemed to have made their home.

Peter and Sirius follow James to the middle of the room where there’s few empty stools, each topped with a thick layer of grime. Sirius throws a few scourgifies at the seat to no avail. Sighing, he resorts to sitting gingerly on the edge of the stool. He hears a cough, cough, “Posh boy, ” from behind him that sounds suspiciously like Marlene Mckinnon. He turns to flip her the bird. Marlene sticks her tongue out at him and her friend, Daisy Hookum, giggles next to her. 

When Sirius turns back around Lily is there with a plate of cookies. James and Peter both take one eagerly. James compliments Lily’s decorations and Peter, rather tactlessly, asks if there’s a sign-up sheet for receiving the Herbology extra credit. Sirius rolls his eyes. He tunes them out and scans the room for abnormally tall boys with honey freckles and ink-stained hands and comes up empty. Odd, how that makes his mood even worse. 

“We’ll get started in a few minutes,” Lily says, leaving to greet some newcomers.

Sirius only half listens as James animatedly raves about the ‘merits and arts of gardening,’ to anyone who will listen. (James had spent all night talking into the fireplace with his mother about her garden back home, preparing for this day). But Sirius is only half listening because most of his attention is focused on the greenhouse doors, watching as more and more students crowd into the glass room making it more and more obvious that they are all standing in a glass incubator.

James pokes him in the shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Sirius says, turning back to James and swotting at the lacewing flies buzzing at his ear. He tries harder to pay attention to James’ rant. 

It isn’t until Lily is about to start, standing in the front of the room, preparing her presentation or whatever it is she’s about to do, that Remus walks in.

He’s wearing an ugly brown sweater that’s too wide for his slender frame. The wool sags around his neck, revealing his collarbone and about two inches of skin below it. The sight does something weird to Sirius’ stomach, like someone kicked him in his solar plexus. 

Remus is with a few friends and Sirius watches as they all stumble over to a bench against the wall. One of his friends, a short, muscular, red-head, leans in to whisper something into Remus’ ear. Remus pushes at him, laughing loudly. Sirius finds it irritating. He looks away, eyes intently focused on Lily as she greets everyone. 

“Hi everyone, thank you so much for showing up! There’s a sign-up sheet going around for the Herbology extra credit. You’ll still get it if you just come today, but I hope you all decide to stay. I really hope we can all get to know each other better, and for that reason I would like everyone to come to the front and form a circle so we can start an ice breaker.” Marvelous, Sirius thinks bitterly.

James is the first to jump out of his seat, hurrying to the front. Everyone moves to follow his lead and Sirius takes this as an opportunity to slip out the back door.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. What was he even doing here? He doesn't like Herbology —he’s not even taking it— and he certainly doesn’t like gardening. So why had he come? 

Sirius walks across the grassy ground of Hogwarts, kicking at the little pebbles in his way until he makes it to the greenhouse tool shed. He sits down, slumping against the weather-worn wood and picks at the grass.  

“You were out of there quick.”

Sirius looks up and finds Remus standing in front of him, his hands in his pockets, his form backlit by the sun looking alarmingly reminiscent of when Sirius had first seen him. 

Sirius turns his attention back to the grass, taking a blade between his index and pointer and pulling. “Ice breakers aren’t really my thing.”

“But gardening is?”

Sirius gives him a look. Remus smirks down at him with some strange sort of magic that Sirius feels tugging behind his ribs.

“I have a confession,” Remus says, sliding down to sit next to Sirius against the shed. “I knew who you were that day in the library. Like, before you said your name.”

Sirius lolls his head over at Remus, shooting him an odd look. “And you just… pretended you didn’t?”

Remus tilts his head from side to side as if contemplating the question. “Pretty much.”

“Why?” he asks, baffled.

Remus wiggles his eyebrows at him. “Every library needs a mysterious stranger.”

Sirius doesn’t know if it’s the right way to react, but he lets out a sharp laugh at this. It comes out sounding more nervous than he would have liked and he moves quickly past it. “And you just didn’t tell me your name?” 

“Well, yeah, that would defeat the whole ‘mysterious stranger’ bit.”

Sirius is smiling now; partly in disbelief, partly in amusement. He looks down at his shoes in front of him, wiggles his toes in his leather boots. 

“So,” Remus leans in closer, lowering his voice, “what did you call me?” 

“Hmm?”

“Like in your head, what did you call me?”

Oh. Sirius feels heat traitorously color his cheeks like spilled wine.

Remus takes notice; he instantly sits up straighter. “What?” Remus asks, amused.

Sirius shakes his head. “It’s stupid.”

“Oh, come on.”

Sirius bites the inside of his cheek. He looks over at Remus, who is looking at him. Raised eyebrows, quivering lip. Sirius sighs. “You can’t laugh.”

“Cross my heart,” Remus says solemnly, bringing up a slender finger and lazily crossing an ‘X’ over his chest.

Sirius looks back at his boots. Taps them together once. Twice. “Golden boy.”

Remus snorts through his nose.

Sirius' head whips up. “Wanker, you said you wouldn’t laugh!”

“Sorry, sorry.” Remus’ tongue pokes out to wet his lips. And Sirius finds himself staring at the scar that runs across Remus’ top lip, wondering what it feels like when Remus darts his tongue over it. Is it calloused and rough like sandpaper or is it smooth like rocks under the ocean’s tide? 

“Do you mind?” Remus asks.

Sirius startles. His eyes dart back up. His mind is a white blank panic. He’s been caught staring and now Remus is what? Angry? Upset? Disturbed? But he doesn’t look like any of those things; he just looks amused.

Remus raises his brows and holds up the joint tucked between his fingers.

“Oh,” Sirius relaxes, “No, go ahead.”

Remus smiles. “Cheers.”

Sirius watches as Remus rotates the joint over the flame of a muggle lighter, before bringing it to his lips and taking a hit. 

“Want to try?” Remus asks, offering him the joint.

Sirius shrugs and reaches over. With misplaced confidence, Sirius brings it to his lips, inhales, and then immediately coughs on the exhale, his throat feeling itchy and raw.

“Easy there,” Remus says, reaching over to take the joint. “You gotta go slowly.”

Sirius coughs a couple more times, looking over at Remus with slightly watered eyes.

Remus tilts his head. “Want me to show you?”

Sirius looks between the joint in Remus’ hand and Remus’ lips. “Okay.”

Remus stands, holding Sirius’ gaze as he walks up to Sirius and kneels down right before him. Sirius swallows. 

Remus places the joint between his own lips, taking a hit before pulling it away. Leaning forward, he creates a tunnel with his hand connecting his and Sirius’ lips. Slowly, Remus blows the smoke through the tunnel and into Sirius’ mouth. 

When Remus lowers his hand, neither one of them dare to move.

They’re so close. Sirius can feel Remus’ hot, bated breath on his skin. He can see every one of Remus’ honey freckles and the white spiderwebs that course through his scar tissue. He can hear every one of Remus’ sharp inhales and shaky exhales; It’s the only sound he can hear above his own heart racing through his veins.

And his heart is doing that —racing. But it’s not like a thud, thud, thud in his chest or even a soft, fluttering sound like a warm, Irish lilt. The sound is more like a swoosh, like a pendulum swing, jumping from white-hot anticipation to cold-blooded fear and back again.

Remus' eyes flicker down to Sirius’ lips, revealing long lashes. Sirius looks down at Remus’ lips, at the scar tissue running through the top of it. He wonders what it would feel like to lick it. Remus leans forward slightly. Sirius holds his breath.

“Sirius! There you are,” James calls. And they both spring back; Sirius hitting his head on the wall of the shed; Remus scampering back onto the grass until he’s about three feet away. 

James looks between the both of them with furrowed brows until his eyes reach the joint between Remus’ fingers. He turns to Sirius and smiles cheekily at him, thinking that’s all it was, that they had just been trying to hide the joint from him. 

“Ah, you missed it,” James trills, flopping down between the two of them, facing Sirius. “It’s all a front! I mean there will still be gardening, but Lily wants to clear the greenhouse out so we can use it to hangout and have parties or whatever since Sprout has gotten stricter about the Hufflepuff common room rules. You know, since so many Hufflepuffs have been caught toking up.” James turns to give Remus a pointed look at that. Remus smiles jovially at him before taking another hit. “Anyways,” he continues, turning back to Sirius, “no one really wants to help out with the cleaning process since scourgify wasn’t doing much and Lily thinks using muggle cleaning supplies will be better. Something about it being more pure, I don’t know. The point is, I’m the only one who volunteered for cleaning duty so it’ll just be me and Lily scrubbing the place down, isn't it romantic!” 

“Sure, mate,” Sirius says, reaching over to pat his friend’s shoulder.

Sirius looks over at Remus with a look he hopes conveys: Can you believe this lovesick fool?! Remus shakes his head, looking like he’s barely concealing a laugh.

Chapter Text

Part II. To Cold-Blooded Fear

Daisy Hookum was reaching for the button of Sirius’ jeans. Again.

Sirius groans, grabbing at her wrists. He turns them, pushing her up against the shelves of magical cleaning products. A box of Winky Crockett’s Elbow Grease clatters to the floor. 

Sirius ducks back down, his lips ghosting over hers. “What’s the hurry?” he breathes.

Daisy pulls away. “If you don’t want to, you can just say that, you know.” 

Sirius steps back like he’s been hit. “Of course I want to. Why wouldn't I want to?” 

“Okay, then,” Daisy purrs, stepping forward, hands reaching for his jeans again.

“Daisy,” he drawls, exasperated.

Daisy’s arms immediately drop. She huffs, looking away, down at the box of Winky Crockett’s Elbow Grease.

“Hey,” Sirius says, reaching up to turn her face towards his, brushing her cheekbone with his thumb. ‘I’m sorry, I just, I—” Daisy’s big brown eyes look up at him. “I just need,” thumb pulling down her bottom lip, “this.” He leans in to kiss her. She lets him. He pulls away, searching her face. “Please.”

Daisy bites her lip, fighting a smile. “Sirius Black,” she says, “a closeted romantic.”

He winks at her and then they’re kissing again. And this is good, Sirius thinks, this is just what I need. 

He’s had a shit day.

For starters, he had woken up in cold sweat. He had dreamt of golden hour and dusty books and hands on skin and lip scars and bridging gaps. And he had woken up gasping for air. 

At breakfast, he had sat fidgeting in his seat, darting glances at the Ravenclaw table, stomach twisting like a wrung-out towel at the thought of facing Remus.

James had shot him several worrying looks. “Are you feeling okay? You’re acting a bit weird.”

Sirius, affronted: “I am not acting weird.”

Peter, around a mouthful of pixie puffs: “No, you are acting a bit weird.”

Sirius had glared at the both of them. “Can we talk about something else, please?” he had asked bitingly.

Peter: “Fine. Where did you go during Lily’s gardening thing?”

James, smirking: “Oh, he was with Remus.”

Peter: “Remus? I didn’t know you were friends with Remus.”

James, smug: “Oh yeah, yesterday I caught them—”

Sirius had quickly stood up. “You know what, I am feeling a bit ill, bit of a headache, actually. I think I’m gonna go lie down.”

While everyone else went to classes, Sirius had spent the rest of the day in the dorm. And when the time came to go to the library, Sirius had hid under his covers. 

He had spent his time trying to distract himself; throwing and catching James’ decoy snitch, scanning through the Daily Prophet, completing the crossword, flipping through James’ men’s quidditch magazine, but then he had to stop because he caught himself staring at some of the pictures a little too long. And then things got really desperate, because he started reading through his Potions textbook.

When James and Peter came back to the dorm (after quidditch practice and chess club, respectively) James handed Sirius a piece of cardstock and a pastry. 

Written in pink ink: Sirius, heard you weren’t feeling well. Pumpkin Pasties always make me feel better. xxx Daisy

James: “Bloody lady-killer.”

Peter: “I got hit with a slugulus eructo, ended up in the hospital for three days, and not a single girl tried to get into my pants.”

Sirius: “Can you really blame them though?”

James: “Your breath after that…” James had shuddered, “…foul.”

Sirius had nodded his head in sincere agreement. And then he looked back down at the piece of cardstock. xxx Daisy. 

And a few hours later, Sirius had found himself crammed in a broom closet after hours with Daisy Hookum.

And it’s not like there’s anything wrong with people like Remus. Obviously. But Sirius can’t— He isn’t— And besides, surely that’s something someone would know about oneself. Right?  

And it’s not like Sirius hadn’t spent a lot of time with girls in broom closets. But it had been a long time. And that’s all it was. Sirius was a teenage boy with raging hormones and he needed this. And that moment with Remus by the tool shed and that godawful-certainly-came-out-of-nowhere dream were a by-product of that; his teenage hormones confusing him because it had been too long since he last had a good snog in a broom closet. With a girl. 

So Sirius lets himself melt into her. Girls are nice like that; soft and warm and comforting. And he lets himself lean in and kiss her, hard. Hard enough to make his head go numb, hard enough to clear away all his unwanted thoughts.

But then Daisy is reaching for his jean button again and Sirius really isn’t feeling it and —even more embarrassingly— he doesn’t think he’ll be able to get it up. 

“Daisy, fucking hell,” he says, pulling away. 

“Fucking hell yourself,” she says, her cheeks coloring with embarrassment. 

Sirius doesn’t get a chance to respond because the door of broom closet is thrown open and bloody hell, there’s Remus in his stupid sweater and stupid freckles and stupid messy curls. And he’s smiling at having caught two people necking in a broom closet but then his eyes flicker over to Sirius and his smile falters before it’s back almost as soon as it had disappeared. 

“Remus?” Sirius hears someone call from down the hall. He’s pretty sure it’s Lily Evans.

“All’s clear!” Remus shouts back, sending them both a wink before sauntering off. Right, Remus is a prefect. 

When the door closes again, Sirius reaches forward. “Daisy—”

“Don’t,” she says, reaching for the door knob. 

The walk back to Gryffindor is awkward. 

***

The next morning Remus walks into the Great Hall looking tired and a little ill (not that Sirius is staring).

In Transfiguration, Remus has purple bags under his eyes and he sits slumped in his seat (Okay, maybe he is staring, so what? He’s just concerned about his friend).

After classes, Sirius heads to the library. He’s pretty sure Madam Pince hadn’t even noticed his absence yesterday, or if she had, she doesn’t say anything about it. Without a word, she hands him a stack of books and he goes about placing them in the open slots. 

When he’s done, he heads over to the sports section. He’s developed a bit of a game with the sports bookshelf; it’ll throw a book at random at him and he’ll catch it (or doge it; sometimes it throws it hard and fast right towards his face). It’s fun for about three minutes and then he’s bored again. 

He finds himself wandering towards the back tables where Remus usually sits surrounded by open books, but he finds he isn’t there. And sure, there’s been days in which Remus hasn’t come to the library, but he looked pretty ill and run-down today and Sirius can’t help but worry about him. 

When he makes it back to the dorm room, James is there. 

“What’s wrong?” James asks almost as soon as Sirius walks through the door. 

“Nothing,” and then a few moments later: “Did you notice how sickly Remus looked today?”

James’ brows furrow. “Remus? He was in Transfiguration, wasn't he? He can’t be that sick then.”

Sirius gets the impression that Remus would show up to class even if he was suffering from a major hemorrhage. “Yeah, I guess.”

“I can ask Lily if you want. They’re pretty close.”

“No, it’s okay. Forget it.”

***

The next day Remus isn’t in the Great Hall for breakfast or in Transfiguration. And after classes are over, he isn’t in the library either. 

***

Sirius is not worried. 

***

Except, well, maybe he is. Because now it’s 2am and he’s wide awake fiddling with the loose threads of his bed quilt and wondering if Lily Evans would find it weird if he asked her about Remus. 

It’s as if Sirius had gotten so used to Remus’ presence that now that he has disappeared he feels his absence like a missing tooth; a diastema between his molars where Remus used to pick at his porridge during breakfast and quietly flip through his Transfiguration textbook. And now he can’t do anything but worry his tongue over the vacancy until his gums are raw and bleeding.

***

James, Peter, and Sirius spend the weekend planning their next prank. They want to charm all the Hogwarts paintings to sing dirty pub songs. Which sounds simple in theory, but there are a lot of paintings at Hogwarts and also they’re having a difficult time finding a defensive charm that will make it more difficult for the professors to reverse. 

Their scheming has reached the familiar stalemate in which one of them will have to go to the library to pick up books for research.

“I’ll go,” Sirius says.

James and Peter share an incredulous look. Sirius has never once offered to go to the library. In fact, he has always refused. “I’ll provide the ideas, the booze, the fucking morale, but I will not be stepping foot in the library.”

“What?” Sirius says, “I probably know my way around the library better than both of you by now.”

“No, no,” James says, pushing up his glasses, “it’s about time you started pulling your weight in this group.” Peter snickers.

Sirius glares at them both. “I’ll remind you both who took the fall for operation pink snakes.”

“Please,” James says, “as if you didn’t want all the glory for yourself, you ostentatious bastard.” Again, this is punctuated with Peter snickering. He’s always doing that; backing up James no matter what he says. Sirius finds it quite annoying.

“Whatever,” Sirius says, suddenly feeling peppery, “I’m going.”

***

Sirius knows where the defensive charms section is: far right corner. He also knows where Remus’ favorite study spot is: far left corner. So he decides to take the long route to the defensive charms section i.e. beeline for the far left corner first and then follow along the wall to the far right corner. 

He’s on his way to Remus’ spot, passing through the world histories section, when he hears a loud clash followed by a “fuck,” from the aisle over.

Sirius backs up a few steps and peers around the shelf and there’s Remus one hand precariously balancing two books, the other hand bandaged up in layers of gauze, and a pile of books strewn at his feet.

“Christ, what happened to your hand?”

Remus jumps at the sound of Sirius’ voice and another book clashes to the floor.

Sirius walks forward, raising one eyebrow.

Remus looks down at his bandaged hand. “Got into a fight with a grindylow in The Black Lake.”

“Really?”

“No,” Remus deadpans as Sirius kneels down to pick up Remus’ books, “Potion-making accident. Not a big deal. Although ask Pomfrey and she’ll say it’s the end of the world. She makes me sit out of all my lectures every time I get slightly injured.”

Sirius scans Remus’ face. He looks pale and there’s a ghost of purple under his eyes. He looks tired. “Maybe you should lie down and get some rest.”

“It’s a bandaged hand, Sirius, not fucking Dragon Pox.” Remus’ gaze shifts downwards at the books Sirius is resting against his hip. He reaches forward. “Here, I can take those.”

“No, I got it.”

Remus’ eyes narrow at him. Sirius stands up straighter, ready to hold his ground. He’s 5’ 10’’ (and three quarters , thank you very much) compared to Remus’ lofty 6’ 2’’. He can’t afford to lose a single inch. Remus huffs. “Fine,” he says, turning and walking away. Sirius scrambles to follow.

When they make it to Remus’ table, Remus goes about reading his books and Sirius goes about fidgeting with his hands. 

“Sirius,” Remus says exasperated, “I’m not going to keel over and die. You don't need to sit there and watch me.”

Sirius bristles and Remus sighs.

“You know what would make me feel better?” Remus digs in his bag. He pulls out a joint. He’s got a crooked smile on his face and gleam in his eye like him and Sirius are both in on some big secret. 

Sirius’ mind is a kaleidoscope of grassy hills and ugly sweaters and dust motes and lip scars. Spinning, spinning, spinning in a frenzied panic.

He gulps. “Here?” 

“Obviously not. Let's go to Lily’s greenhouse.” And then he swings his bag over his shoulder and leaves, books forgotten on the table, just expecting Sirius to follow him. And, of course, Sirius does.

***

A few hours later Sirius stumbles into the dorm room.

“Where’ve you been?” James asks.

“Huh?” His high is almost worn off, but his head still feels a little airy and James sounds a little fuzzy.

“You were supposed to go to the library and get books for research.”

Oh. “I got distracted. I’ll go now.”

“No need. I went looking for you and when I couldn’t find you, I just got the books myself.”

“Oh,” Sirius says, looking over at Peter, who’s silently slumped over a book at his desk —presumably the book James got— “my bad.”

“It’s fine,” James says, smiling now, “you can be in charge of booze and fucking morale.”

Sirius matches his smile. “Aye, aye.”

***

He likes watching Remus read. 

He likes watching the little crease on Remus’ forehead ripple from puzzlement to understanding. He likes watching Remus’ mouth ghost over the words. He likes watching Remus tuck a curl behind his ear only for it to fall out again when he leans forward to turn a page. 

It’s different when he and Remus smoke on the grassy knolls out by Lily’s greenhouse. There Sirius’ glances are as fleeting as the gasps of breeze that ruffles Remus’ curls; back and forth, and back and forth again. Because sometimes, when they’re smoking, he’ll look up and find Remus is already looking at him. And he’s terrified of being caught looking first —of Remus looking over and finding Sirius already staring. 

But when Remus is reading, Sirius can watch. 

It’s become their routine; library and then Lily’s greenhouse to smoke or sometimes to just lie around and talk. They roll around on the grass until Sirius says something ridiculous and stupid and really, not very funny, like some joke about Gandalf with Dumbledore as the punch line and Remus will laugh deep and raw and low like a slow decent into the earth. And he’ll turn to Sirius with chatoyant eyes that catch the sun and burn a hole into one of Sirius’ vital organs. Like a kidney or something. And when Remus passes him the joint, his eyes don’t leave Sirius’ as he shakes his head still in a fit of earth-deep laughter and Sirius feels like he, too, is melting, right there into the earth. Six feet deep with a punctured kidney and the sound of Remus’ laughter ringing in his ears.

He thinks maybe it’s because they’re high, but that’s when he feels his best; hidden behind the greenhouse tool shed, rolling on the grassy knolls with Remus.

So he likes watching Remus read, but he also likes what comes after. Thus when Remus shuts his book and gets up to leave, Sirius follows eager and at his heels, but Remus makes one too many left turns before Sirius realizes with jolt (of what? Apprehension? Nerves? Anticipation? Fear?) that he’s not leading them to the Hogwarts grounds but, rather, to the Ravenclaw dormitory. 

The Ravenclaw common room is airy. It’s a circular room with graceful arched windows, silk blue curtains, and a midnight blue carpet dotted with little stars. There’s a few students slumped in the armchairs around the fireplace but they’re all too busy reading or talking amongst themselves to notice Remus leading him up the winding steps of a turret and into his room. 

His roommates aren’t there, but it’s clear what corner of the room is Remus’, with the haphazard stack of worn books against the wall, the potted plants in his window, and posters covering the wall of boys with long hair and pierced ears and charcoal around their eyes.

Remus drops to the floor to rifle through a crate of records at the foot of his bed, while Sirius stands there. In Remus’ room. Shoving his hands in his pockets, and then back out and then back in. In Remus’ room. 

Remus pulls out a record. The sleeve is fiery and vermilion. He flips it between his nimble fingers, scanning the back, then looks over his shoulder and grins wickedly up at Sirius, who’s standing there, in Remus’ room . And Sirius feels a jolt from somewhere in the shallow regions of his gut. Apprehension? Nerves? Anticipation? Fear? They’re all too similar to discern.  

He wants to ask Remus what they’re doing here, but instead he attempts a smile that feels a little flurried and timorous at the edges and clears his throat.

“Some Celestina Warbeck?” he rags.

Remus scrunches his nose up at him. “Merlin, no. Some muggle music. I think you’ll like it.”

Remus slips the LP out of the sleeve and walks it over to the record player sitting on his bedside table. Carefully, he places the vinyl on the slip mat and turns the machine on. As the needle touches down, a stark white hiss reverberates through the room and shocks Sirius’ hands out of his pockets.

Remus turns on his heel as the room fills with the grimy stomp of guitar and drums. He looks Sirius up and down, biting his lip and looking very much like he’s trying to hold in a laugh. It has a weird effect on Sirius; a tightening in his chest, a clenching in his gut. He feels like he’s preparing for impact, like it’s just him and Remus and an open road and they’re barreling down a highway to hell in one of those steel, muggle death traps.

“Merlin, Sirius, loosen up.”

Remus saunters over to where Sirius is standing in the middle of the room and plops himself down onto the floor. Remus reaches up and tugs on Sirius’ wrist until he sits down on the carpet next to him. “It’s better down here, I promise.”

Remus lays himself down on the carpet and Sirius stares down at him before lowering himself next to him. 

It’s the afternoon, but the ceiling is magicked to show the stars as if it’s midnight. 

“That one’s you, right?” Remus says pointing to the ceiling above them. 

Sirius nods. “Brightest star in the sky.”

“Only makes sense,” Remus responds sotto voce. 

Sirius' eyes flutter over to Remus. He can see the reflection of stars in his eyes.

Yeah deep in the night, I’m lost in love / A thousand lights / Look at you / A thousand lights / Look at you / I’m lost / I’m lost / I’m lost, yeah

Remus props himself on his elbows to dig in his back pocket for a pack of cigarettes and a muggle lighter and Sirius' gaze drifts back to the stars above. 

He hears the rasp of the lighter as Remus flicks it on, the catch of breath as Remus draws, the zephyr as Remus breathes out, the soft rustle of cotton as Remus reaches out to nudge his elbow.

“Hmm?” Sirius turns. 

Remus offers him the cigarette as a response. Sirius takes it, their fingers brushing. The hair on the back of Sirius’ neck stands tall. There’s something charged between them, like the brush of skin just completed the circuit; electrons flowing through, a light bulb going off. 

The corners of Remus’ mouth twitch with electricity. “Like it?” he whispers.

“Well,” Sirius says, quickly looking away, “it’s no Celestina Warbeck.”

Remus laughs through his nose. “No, thank Merlin for that.” 

Sirius draws and lets out a shaky breath. 

Both hands now free, Remus starts playing the air drums to the sound of the music filtering through the room. Sirius looks over at him, bemused. His movements are sweeping and exaggerated and Sirius laughs at him, feels it bubble up from deep within his gut, and he laughs and laughs and laughs. 

And then the song comes to a close and there’s a click as the record moves on to the next track. And Remus settles back down and tucks his hands behind his head. Sirius reaches over him, one hand on the carpet next to Remus’ right hip, the other hand reaching over to tap the cigarette on the ashtray at Remus’ left hip. Remus’ eyes track his movements until he’s laying back down next to him again.

I took a record of pretty music / I went down and baby, you can tell / I took a record of pretty music / Now I’m putting it to you straight from hell / I’ll stick it deep inside / I’ll stick it deep inside / ‘Cause I’m loose!

Remus lolls his head over and wiggles his eyebrows and Sirius feels like he might just die. Like the world will end right then and there all because Remus Lupin looked at him funny. But the world keeps spinning, like the record on the turntable, like the smoke billowing above them up and up and up, like the thoughts muddling Sirius’ head. 

They lay there in this liminal space on the floor of Remus’ dorm room under the stars at four in the afternoon.

They lay there and listen and smoke and occasionally Remus will tell Sirius some obscure fact about the band — The Stooges , Sirius learns— and Sirius responds with something snarky and Remus pushes at his shoulder. And they laugh and laugh and laugh. 

It’s so easy to be with Remus. 

But then, like all good things, the music stops; White noise fills the room, static and jarring and buzzing, like the air around them.

“Shit, I gotta flip the record,” Remus says. Sirius turns to look over at him and finds Remus already staring. The static in the room seeps into Sirius’ head. Buzz, buzz, buzz.  

Remus tilts his head forward to whisper. “Sirius—” But he’s cut off by the dorm room door banging open, hitting the wall with a loud thump.

Sirius scrambles up to a sitting position. Remus follows suit, his movements much more laggard.

“Shit. Sorry, mate. Didn’t know you had company.” It’s the short, muscular, red-head from Lily’s gardening club meeting.

“Owen,” Remus says, “How was Divination?”

“Horrid,” the boy says walking over to his corner of the room, “Got a cross in my tea leaves so I can expect ‘trials and suffering.’”

“Ah, bugger.”

Owen hums, rifling through the mess on his bedside table. “Anyways, I’ll just grab my book and leave you both to it.”

“No need,” Sirius says, finally finding his voice, “I should start heading back to Gryffindor.”

Remus frowns at him. “Promise you’ll come back though? We only made it through side A.”

Sirius looks between Remus and his roommate, who’s now searching under his bed for his book. “Uh, yeah, sure.” 

Remus’ brows furrow and he opens his mouth to ask something, but then seems to think better of it. He offers Sirius a smile instead and then: “Are you going to the greenhouse party?”

Sirius is very aware of Owen, on the floor, quietly cursing under his breath, looking for his damn book. “Greenhouse party?”

“Yeah. James didn’t tell you they finished cleaning it out?”

Sirius shakes his head. He hadn’t talked to James much lately, what with spending all his free time at the library and with Remus. 

Remus looks surprised. “Oh, well, yeah it’s all shiny now. They’ve moved on to cleaning out the tool shed. Lily’s celebrating with a party.”

Sirius hums though he’s not sure it can be heard over Owen who has now moved on to rummaging through his desk drawers. Where is that damn book?

“It’s this Friday,” Remus says, “You’ll come?” Remus’ amber eyes are watching him so intently, Sirius almost forgets Owen is still in the room; just him and Remus and an open road.

“Yeah, I’ll come.” 

Remus smiles.

***

Sirius takes his time walking back to Gryffindor. After six years, he can pretty much navigate the entire castle on autopilot. So that’s what he does; easily winding around the hallways and dodging his fellow students, while he thinks about Remus’ laugh. It’s a weird thing to think about, he reckons. He’s never given much thought to James’ guffaw or Peter’s little squeak. But there’s something about Remus’ laugh; low and hearty and deep; it feels like it’s sinking down and pulling you under so that you can’t help but join in; it’s like quicksand. 

He’s halfway to Gryffindor when he starts noticing that students are crowding up against the walls. He stops and that’s when he hears it. There’s a portrait to the right of him of three men in front of a lake. They’re all holding a pitcher of beer and swaying together while singing.  

Ah, you’re drunk, you’re drunk / You silly old fellow, still you can not see / That’s a lovely tin whistle that me mother sent to me

Sirius looks up and around. All the portraits are singing.

“Let me guess, your dirty work?” Sirius looks over to find Marlene McKinnon next to him, smirking. Sirius locks his jaw, turns on his heel without answering, and walks a whole lot faster to Gryffindor tower. 

“What the fuck?” he spits as he storms into the dorm. 

“Good evening to you too,” James responds, not even looking up from his men’s quidditch magazine. Peter is at his desk, writing furiously.

“Why are the portraits singing pub songs?”

“Because Peter and I charmed them.” James sounds so nonchalant, it makes Sirius want to scream. Or tear the page out of the magazine James is so intent on staring at. 

“That was my idea!”

“It was our idea.”

“So what? You just did it without me?”

“Well we couldn’t bloody well wait for you to make an appearance!” James shouts. 

It’s so rare that James Potter raises his voice, that Sirius takes a literal step back, nearly rolling his ankle. 

“What is that supposed to mean?”

James sighs, finally tossing his magazine off to the side. “You haven’t been around Sirius. After classes you go to the library,” Sirius opens his mouth, but James holds up a hand to silence him, “and we know you have to, but then you’re gone the rest of the day until supper. And you won’t tell us where you go and when we try to talk to you in the Great Hall or in the dorm, you go all quiet and your mind is somewhere else and you’re just not here. ”

Sirius feels panic crawl up his throat. He opens his mouth, closes it. James watches him warily and sighs. “Look, you don’t have to tell us where you go or what you do, but you can’t just shut us out. We’re your friends.”

Sirius swallows. Nods once.

“And you missed Pete’s chess championship game. It was this afternoon.”

Sirius looks over at Peter, still sitting at his desk, writing. “Shit, sorry mate.” 

Peter waves a hand at him, not turning around. “S’okay. Buy me a few chocolate frogs and all is forgiven.”

Sirius huffs a laugh. “Yeah, okay.” He turns back to James, softening.

“I heard you and Lily finished cleaning out the greenhouse.” 

James looks surprised. “Yeah.”

“And there’s going to be a party?”

“Yeah…”

“So what’s the plan? Pregame here, get you all nice and loose so you can win over Evans' heart before we head over?”

“I do not need to be intoxicated to woo Lily.”

“No, you’re right. New plan: get Lily drunk so she’ll forget that time in fourth year when you puked all over shoes because you were so bloody nervous to be in her presence.”

“Wanker,” James says, launching a pillow at him. Sirius dodges it. 

James is smiling at him, but there’s a gleam of apprehension in his eyes. Sirius knows him well enough to recognize it. He swallows and then quietly: “M’ sorry.”

James nods once. “I know.”

“If you two are gonna makeout or whatever,” Peter says, still writing, “please take it to the common room so I can finish this bloody Herbology essay.”

“Aw Pete, if you were jealous you could have just said so,” Sirius says barreling over to leave a wet, sloppy kiss on his cheek. 

***

From the outside the greenhouse looks dark and empty and quiet. 

“Are you sure we got the right time?” Peter asks.

“Positive,” James smiles and reaches up to knock on the door.

Lily Evans swings the door open and the three of them are instantly hit with a cacophony of music, shouting, and laughter.

Sirius peeks over Lily’s shoulder. There’s a disco ball hung from the ceiling, colorful lights strung up on the walls, discarded red cups everywhere, and dozens of people yelling over each other to be heard over the music. “Holy shit,” Sirius squawks. 

Lily rolls her eyes and opens the door farther so that they can walk in. 

“Evans,” James says as he passes her, nodding his head. “Potter,” she replies, a traitorous smile tugging at her lips. 

The three of them make a beeline to the drinks table. “Did you see that? She’s really warming up to me,” James says, grabbing them three red cups.

Sirius snorts. “Only took six years.” He turns, leaning against the table to survey the party, appreciating Lily’s hardwork —and James’, he supposes. The greenhouse is almost unrecognizable from the first time he set foot in it. Without the layer of grime, you can see the first glimmer of stars through the glass windows as twilight seeps through the night sky. The old, wooden stools are all cleaned and pushed to the side to make room for the random assortment of colorful armchairs that sit on top of various, overlapping bohemian rugs. And in the left corner, there’s no more glumbumbles —just Remus leaning against the wall. 

He does a double-take. Remus is arguing with a boy whom Sirius recognizes as Dirk Cresswell, Remus’ ex. He can’t tell what they’re saying, but Dirk is pointing his finger at Remus’ chest and Remus is standing there shaking his head, his arms crossed. Dirk says something and Remus huffs and looks away, eyes scanning the room until they find Sirius’ and hold. 

“Sirius,” James nudges his shoulder. 

Sirius startles. He looks over. James offers him a red cup. “My own concoction,” he says, eyes twinkling.

“Well, as long as Peter didn’t make it,” Sirius says, accepting it.

“Hey,” Peter squeaks, “that was one time.” 

James shudders. “I think I had a hangover for three days.”

“You both are so dramatic,” Peter mutters.

Sirius laughs into his cup. His eyes drift over to the left corner. Dirk is nowhere to be seen, but Remus is walking right towards them. 

“Shit,” Sirius curses, turning around to face the table again. He spills a bit of his drink down the front of his shirt. He frantically grabs at the pile of the napkins on the table and begins dabbing.

“What?” James says, looking over, “too much vodka?”

Sirius shakes his head. The movement is quick and spasmodic. 

“Hi,” Remus says. Sirius turns, napkins still clutched to his chest. Remus is looking right at him. Sirius swallows. “Hey,” he croaks. 

In the corner of his eye he can see — and feel— James and Peter looking between them, confused. 

Remus frowns at him before turning to nod at Peter and James. “Hi,” he says. 

“Hi,” James and Peter say back, but it sounds more like a question. 

“Remus!” Lily calls from across the room and all four of them jump, “Come help with the music.”

“Gotta go,” Remus says with a half smile, “I’ll see you guys around.” His eyes linger on Sirius for a few moments before he turns on his heel and heads towards Lily and the crate of records she’s rifling through. 

“That was weird,” Peter says once Remus is gone. 

Sirius is saved from responding by the opening chords of Rebel, Rebel.

James throws back his drink and wipes his mouth with his sleeve. “To the dance floor, boys,” he shouts.

Sirius whoops, dropping the napkins, and following James to the middle of the floor.

James starts twisting his body wildly, not matching the music at all and Sirius looks over and watches Remus and Lily make their way to the center as well. Remus catches him staring and winks. Sirius looks away. 

Hey, babe, your hair’s alright / Hey, babe, let’s go out tonight / You like me and I like it all / We like dancing and we look divine

The chorus picks up and more students join them on the dance floor —which is really just the middle of the room— singing the lyrics and jumping up and down. And Sirius jumps and screams with them. And he feels alive. 

He spots Marlene whipping her head around and scream-singing into her fisted hand like a microphone and he cups his hands around his mouth and cheers, “Yes, McKinnon!” 

Marlene tosses her hair and winks at him and he laughs. And next to her Daisy Hookum narrows her eyes at him, but then more students crowd onto the dance floor and she’s lost in the sea of people. 

A few songs later and Sirius’ hair is sticking to his forehead sweat. They are in a glass incubator after all.  

It’s just James and him now; Peter is off dancing with some Hufflepuff girl from his chess club. 

“I think I’m going to go talk to Lily,” James shouts in his ear. 

“Okay,” Sirius shouts back.

“Alright,” James nods, starts walking away, stops, backs up. “What should I say to her?”

Sirius laughs. “What?” 

“What should I say to Lily?”

“I’d start with ‘Hi.’” 

“Hi,” James repeats slowly and then looks up smiling, “that’s good.”

Sirius snorts. 

And James wanders off, quickly lost in the sea of people. 

Sirius turns thinking he’ll get another drink or find Marlene and dance with her now that his friends have abandoned him, but he turns and he spots Remus leaning against the far wall and all his original plans are forgotten. He ducks his head and weaves his way through the throng of students. 

“Hi,” Sirius says. He looks over his shoulder conscientiously and then back at Remus. 

Remus smirks around his red plastic cup. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re scared to be seen with me.” 

“Well, I have a reputation to uphold. Can’t be seen chumming it up with a prefect.”

Remus narrows his eyes at him. “Do your friends know we hang out?”

Sirius bites his lip. Remus takes that as his answer. 

“My friends know,” Remus whispers.

Sirius gets the feeling they are talking about something else.

“Well, one of them did kinda walk in on us,” Sirius tries to joke. It falls flat.

Remus shakes his head. “Why haven’t you told your friends?”

“Because it’s our thing. No one has to know.” 

Remus frowns at him. 

Sirius feels words rush up his throat and get caught in his larynx, all trying to push their way through until finally he’s able to spit out: “I don’t really know what I’m doing here, Remus.”

Remus’ lips quirk facetiously. “It’s a party, Sirius. Drink booze, listen to music, dance, drink more booze...”

“Not what I meant.”

Remus tilts his head and tentatively reaches out his hand. His pinky brushes Sirius’ and when Sirius doesn't pull away he links their two fingers. 

Sirius’ eyes fly to Remus’ wide and overwrought. “It’s okay,” Remus whispers.

Sirius looks down at their joined pinkies and then to the party before them. No one is looking at them. He looks back at Remus, who’s watching him, eyes darting across Sirius’ face like he's a wild animal who might run off if he makes any sudden movements. “It’s okay,” Remus whispers again.

“Out!” a voice yells over the music and Sirius flinches from the sudden sound. He looks over to see a Hufflepuff boy he’s pretty sure is named Justin, bent over breathing haggard and hair windswept like he just sprinted here from the castle. He takes a few wheezing breaths before standing up and yelling, “Filch is coming!”

It’s chaos then. The music is turned off and the greenhouse becomes shrouded in darkness. Everyone is rushing out —running out the door or shimmying out the cracked windows.

It isn’t until he’s outside and the cold air hits his face that he realizes Remus is still standing next to him. “Where should we—” Sirius starts. Remus’ eyes light up, catching the starlight —or possibly something else. He grabs hold of Sirius’ wrist and sprints off. 

Sirius nearly trips over his own feet as he tries to keep up with Remus’ much longer legs and much longer strides. They make it to the greenhouse tool shed and Remus swings open the door and pushes Sirius inside before shutting the door behind them both. 

Sirius hears Remus latching the deadbolt, but he can’t see anything. It’s all dark. He waves his hand in front of his face. Nothing. 

He reaches out into the dark. “Remus?”

“Right here,” Remus whispers. 

Sirius walks forward, trying to follow Remus’ voice, his hands out before him and then— plunk! “Shit.”

“What?”

“I stepped into the mop bucket.”

Remus bursts out laughing. 

“S’not funny,” Sirius says, indignantly, pulling out his dripping shoe. 

He feels Remus’ body heat before he feels the hand on his shoulder. He blinks up at him as his eyes slowly adjust to the lack of light. 

He can just barely make out the edges of Remus; the outline of his lean shoulders and slender frame; the lithe muscle in his upper arms; the fray of his curls. 

“Here,” Remus says, dropping to his knees in front of him. He pulls his wand out from his back pocket and taps it on Sirius’ wet shoe, murmuring a hot air charm. 

There’s a small hiss as the water in Sirius’ sock and shoe turns into steam. 

“There.” Remus stands back up. Sirius can just barely make out the features of Remus’ face. His eyes are shining, his mouth is smirking. Remus wiggles his wand in front of Sirius’ nose, sprinkling water onto his cheeks. 

“Ugh,” Sirius groans. He reaches out for Remus’ wrist and pulls back, causing Remus to stumble into him. They both freeze. Their faces are inches apart. Somewhere in the deep, deep recess of his mind, he hears Remus’ wand clatter to the floor, but with Remus so close everything else seems to fade away. Every synapse fires and then short circuits at the ebb and flow of Remus’ warm breath down his neck. 

Remus hesitates before tilting his head so that their lips are only just barely ghosting over one another. Sirius' eyes float downwards where he can just barely make out the outline of Remus’ lips.

“Remus?” Sirius whispers.

“Yeah?” Remus breathes, quiet and brittle like the soughing of wind in the trees.

Sirius hesitates, the wind stills, the forest waits. “Is this a good idea?”

“Sirius Black,” Remus whispers into Sirius’ mouth, “I think this might be my best idea yet.”

The tension they’ve been building up —the arpeggio of shaky, hesitant breaths— rives as they both lean forward feverishly; from reserved repose to gale force winds.

Remus’ mouth is on his. Remus’ hands are on his waist, his lower back, up his shirt. Remus tastes of firewhiskey and rain. He touches like thunder.

Remus is a storm blowing through Sirius’ small town and Sirius is laid out on the waterlogged cobblestone streets waiting to be washed away. 

When they pull away it’s with a sharp gasp. “I’m sorry,” Remus whispers, “are you—” And then Sirius is grabbing a fistful of Remus’ sweater and pulling him in and they’re kissing again. So desperate for it that their whole bodies are curving into one another like wind shaping a willow.

***

An hour or so later, Sirius sneaks his way back to Gryffindor tower and slips into his dorm. He was hoping his roommates would be asleep, but James is sitting up in bed, seemingly awaiting him. 

“Was starting to think that you had gotten caught.” 

“I never get caught.”

James snorts. “Tell that to your 96 detentions.”

Sirius eyes Peter’s empty bed. His sheets are still ruffled from this morning when he hadn’t bothered to sort them out. “Where’s Peter?”

James wiggles his eyebrows. “At Hufflepuff. With that girl from his chess club.”

Sirius purses his lips in approval. “Damn, Peter.”

“What about you?”

“Hmm?”

“Where’ve you been?”

Sirius hesitates. 

“Mmm, right,” James says, resigned and then: “Were you with Remus?”

Sirius bristles. “Why would you ask that?”

If James notices the sharp guarding in Sirius’ tone, he doesn't react to it. James shrugs, looking almost bored while Sirius heart thuds. “I’m not as oblivious as you think. It was pretty obvious you were trying to hide the fact that you two knew each other at the party.”

Sirius stares at a brown stain on the carpet from when Peter had spilt firewhiskey onto the floor last year. Three wizards in the dorm and not one of them could be bothered to scourgify it out.

“You’re not trying to replace Peter and I, are you?” James’ tone is teasing, playful.

Sirius’ head snaps up. “What? No, it’s different with Remus. It’s not like—” he shakes his head, “I’m not replacing you.”

James shrugs. “I was only joking.” And then James leans back on his bed, throwing his decoy snitch up and down, up and down —like Sirius’ heartbeat still pounding in his chest.

Chapter Text

Part III. And Back Again

He likes kissing Remus. 

In the empty Charms classroom that Remus pulls him into before breakfast, in the broom closet before and after Transfiguration, the second floor boys bathroom, over Remus’ books in the library, rolling around on the grassy knolls, pushed up against the greenhouse tool shed, and once in the middle of the hallway after hours during Remus’ prefect patrol (much to Remus’ (mostly feigned) chagrin and Sirius’ (definitely not feigned) delight).

If Remus’ laugh is like sinking in quicksand, kissing Remus is like being swept up in a cyclone. Sometimes he feels like he’s in the eye of the storm where it’s just him and Remus and Remus’ wicked mouth, all soft lips and calloused scar, and Remus’ amber eyes, dancing and shining, and it’s lovely. But then sometimes he feels like he’s very much caught in the midst of the chaos —ferocious rains and battering destruction— like when Justin had almost caught them making out against the library’s Ancient Runes section. Luckily his nose had been so stubbornly stuck into a book that he had walked right past them without even glancing up. Him and Remus had laughed about it later, but at night Sirius had lain awake in bed, staring at his ceiling, something close to fear pulsating in his veins and keeping him from sleep. What would Justin have done if he had looked up and seen Remus’ hand up his shirt and Sirius’ tongue down the other boy’s throat?

Kissing Remus is equal parts thrilling and absolutely terrifying.

But he likes kissing Remus. 

Sometimes he can’t even help it. Like right now. Remus is sitting there in his rumpled sweater that tugs at his collarbone, honey freckles dusted on his nose, forehead wrinkling as he reads his book, his lip between his teeth. And Sirius can’t help it, there’s something bright and warm whirring in his stomach —something like desire. And he can’t help it, he leans forward, a hand on Remus’ book for leverage, and closes the distance. Remus lets out a surprised little noise before reacting in earnest. When he pulls away Remus gives him a dopey little grin before returning to his book.   

“Today’s my last day with Pince,” Sirius says.

Remus hums, still scanning the passage of his book. “Oh, is it?” 

“Yeah. Tomorrow Everett comes back.”

“Ah, finally. A dreamboat that one is. Tall, dark, handsome, well-read...” 

“That’s not funny, Remus.”

Remus looks up from his book, amber eyes burning. “Sirius Black,” he whispers, “no one compares to you.”

Desire —it’s definitely desire— rolls in his stomach, comes off of him in waves. He narrows his eyes. “Hmm, that’s better.”

Remus rolls his eyes and returns to his book, but his hand reaches across the table and covers Sirius’. Sirius stares down at it. He’s on a precipice, staring down at the vertiginous drops to the rocky coastline below. Roaring waves on rocks, seizing, gripping and always, always retreating. “Will we still hang out? Even when I don’t have an excuse to come to the library?”

Remus, eyes still on his book: “You don’t need an excuse to come to a public library, Sirius.”

“Remus.”

Remus sighs and looks back up. “Sirius,” he says, smiling slightly, “you’re going to have a hard time keeping me away from you, library or not. And, ” he adds, eyes shining, “I can be your excuse. I know how you like watching me read, you voyeuristic scoundrel.”

“Shut up,” Sirius mutters, kicking Remus under the table. Remus chuckles, low and deep, and Sirius feels it buzzing in his bones.

“Do you go to Hogsmeade?”

Remus looks at him with amused bafflement. “Yes, I suppose I do go to Hogsmeade occasionally.”

Sirius kicks at him again. “That’s not— I meant do you want to go to Hogsmeade? With me. And my friends, I guess. This weekend?”

Remus smiles slyly. “You want me to meet your friends, do you?”

“Uh— yeah, I guess— or well, they already knew who you were before I did, but yeah, yeah I guess.”

“What?” Remus says, eyes dancing, “Do you have a crush on me or something?”

Sirius kicks at him.

“Sirius, I’d love to,” heart soaring , “but,” and plummeting, “I promised my mam I’d come visit her this weekend.”

“Oh,” Sirius says, trying not to sound too disappointed, “that’s fine.”

“Next weekend?” Remus asks, squeezing his hand.

“Yeah. Next weekend.”

***

Peter brings the Hufflepuff girl from his chess club to Hogsmeade. They hold hands on top of the table at The Three Broomsticks. Sirius stares at their clasped hands, out on the table for everyone to see. And he thinks of kissing Remus tucked away in a broom closet or hidden behind a bookshelf. 

James is talking animatedly about the last Gryffindor quidditch win against Ravenclaw. James thinks Gryffindor has a real shot of winning the quidditch cup this year and how great would that be!  

“James wants to play on a professional quidditch team after graduation,” Peter says to Gillian (this, Sirius learns, is the Hufflepuff girl’s name). 

“Not just any team,” James says fervently, “the Montrose Magpies! They’ve won the most league cups.”

Gillian’s eyes widen, she quickly looks over at Peter, clearly overwhelmed by James’ impetuous passion. 

Sirius hides a smile behind his butterbeer.

“That’s quite ambitious,” she says.

James squares his shoulders. “I can do it.”

“Oh I didn’t mean to doubt it,” she giggles, “Lily did say you were very stubborn.” (Being in the same year and the same house, Gillian and Lily were roommates.) 

James’ posture instantly softens, eyebrows raising, mouth slacking. “Did she really?” he asks with poorly hidden excitement. 

“I— yeah?” Gillian says confused.

James looks over at Sirius with wide, ardent eyes. Sirius gives him a thumbs up and then laughs into his butterbeer.

Gillian, for her part, looks as confused as ever.

“Don’t mind James,” Sirius tells her, using the back of his hand to wipe the frothy foam of his butterbeer from his mouth, “he has been plagued with love sickness.” 

Gillian’s eyes dart back to James, a bit surprised. She leans forward. “Your secret's safe with me.”

“Oh don’t worry,” Sirius laughs, “it’s not a secret.”

“Least of all to Lily,” Peter says, letting go of Gillian’s hand and instead wrapping his arm around her shoulder to pull her closer. Sirius watches the casual sign of affection. Peter’s fingers idly drawing circles on Gillian’s upper arm. For everyone to see. He downs his butterbeer. 

Thirty minutes later James announces he’s going to head over to Dervish and Banges to check out their quidditch wares and asks if anyone would like to join him. When neither Peter nor Gillian make to move, or rather —unravel— themselves, Sirius jumps up.

As they walk over to the shop, James ponders whether they will have any tail-twig clippers in stock. His, evidently, had worn dull. Sirius nods absentmindedly, only half paying attention to James and only half paying attention to his surroundings. Consequently, he nearly collides into Lily, who had been walking, rather hurriedly, out of the flower shop next to Puddifoot’s with a bundle of daffodils grasped in her hand. 

“Sorry,” Sirius says at the same time James chirps, “Lily!”

“It’s alright,” Lily says before sending a hesitant nod —and an even more hesitant smile— in James’ direction. 

“Those are beautiful,” James says. 

“Oh,” Lily looks down at the flowers in her hands like she had forgotten they were there, “Thanks.”

“For your room or—?”

“Oh, uh, no. I was just on my way to visit a friend in the infirmary.” 

“Oh? I hope they’re okay,” James says.

“Oh! No, they’re fine. It’s, well, it’s Remus, but,” Lily looks warily between James and Sirius, “he’s alright, just feeling a bit under the weather, I think.”

“Remus?” Sirius says, “I thought he was visiting his mum this weekend.”

Lily turns to Sirius in surprise. “Oh, well maybe he was planning to before he got stuck in the infirmary. I’m not really sure.”

Lily then quickly makes excuses to leave and James ushers her along. “Tell Remus that I hope he feels better!”

As Lily walks off, James turns and continues on to Dervish and Banges. A poster in their front window prompts him into a monologue on the merits and drawbacks of the Nimbus broomsticks. Sirius listens, humming occasionally when appropriate, and follows James around the store as he looks for a tail-twig clipper. But Sirius’ hands are restless at his side. He keeps eyeing the store’s front doors, itching to rush out and make haste to the infirmary. 

***

It’s half past five by the time Sirius makes it back to the castle and comes up with an excuse to slip away to the infirmary. Lily is gone by the time he makes it there. The daffodils in a vase at Remus’ bedside table are the only sign she was ever there at all. Remus is fast asleep when he arrives, his arm in a sling, a bandage on his forehead, his chest floating softly up and down as he breathes. Madam Pomfrey had come just short of threatening Sirius with death if he woke him, but with a reluctant sigh she had agreed to let Sirius sit by his bedside on the off chance he woke up on his own.

It’s half past six by the time Sirius falls asleep in the chair by Remus’ bed, his head cradled awkwardly in his hand. Pomfrey shakes her head at the two sleeping boys, but lets them be.

It’s half past seven by the time Sirius wakes to a pair of amber eyes blinking at him cautiously.

“Sirius?” Remus’ voice is hoarse.

“Remus,” Sirius croaks. He winces and clears his throat. “How are you feeling?”

Remus shrugs his bony shoulders. “Been better,” and then, “What are you doing here?”

“Lily told me you were here.”

Remus worries at his lower lip, but doesn’t offer a response.

“What happened?” Sirius asks. He hates how small his voice sounds.

Remus is quiet for a few moments. When he responds he doesn’t meet Sirius’ gaze, he just stares down at his hands. “Fell down the stairs.”

Sirius eyes Remus’ slinged arm, his forehead bandage, his pale complexion, the dark smudges under his eyes. “Must have been one hell of a staircase.”

“The stairs here do move,” Remus says with amusement that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

Remus attempts to sit up in his bed, but he slumps back down with a little grunt of pain. Sirius is instantly at his side. “Are you okay? Should I get Pomfrey?”

“I’m fine, Sirius,” Remus sighs.

“But—” Remus shoots him a glare and Sirius instantly recoils, returning back to his seat.

“Here,” Sirius says, reaching into his pocket, “I brought you this.”

Remus looks over and grins at Sirius’ outstretched hand. “Chocolate?”

Sirius shrugs. “Chocolate always makes me feel better.”

“Cheers,” Remus says, reaching over to grab it. 

They’re silent as Remus eats his chocolate and Sirius stares out the window.

“What are you looking at?” Remus asks.

“The moon. It’s full.” Sirius, eyes out the window, doesn’t see the way Remus flinches and shrinks at his words.

“The full has passed,” Remus says quietly, “It’s in the waning gibbous phase now.”

Sirius turns to Remus, a smile tugging at his lips. “Okay, Ravenclaw nerd,” he teases.

Remus throws the balled up chocolate wrapper at him. Sirius catches it, unraveling it and flattening it out on his thigh. “I thought you were going to visit your mum.”

“The stairs had other plans.” 

Sirius bites the inside of his cheek. “Why didn’t you tell me? I would have come sooner.”

Remus shrugs. “You were going to Hogsmeade with your friends.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Sirius,” Remus sighs roughly, “maybe I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to see me like this and have you look at me like that.”

“I’m not looking at you like anything—” Sirius starts.

“Yes, you are!” Remus exclaims tartly, “You’re looking at me like I’m broken.”

Sirius opens his mouth to protest, but Remus is already speaking again. “I don’t need someone doting over me. I already have Pomfrey for that.”

“I’m not—”

“Yes, you are.”

Sirius huffs. “Sorry that I care about you,” Sirius spits crossly. 

Remus scoffs and turns sharply away from Sirius. He winces as his arm is jostled in its sling. Sirius is instantly at his side, eyes wide.

Remus looks over his shoulder at him. 

“Are you—” Sirius starts.

“Stop it,” Remus snaps. Sirius flinches. Remus has never once raised his voice at him, never once gotten angry with him. Remus has always been careful and gentle and reassuring. Sirius is confused.

He’s scared.

“But–”

“Go.”

“Remus—”

“Go.”

And Sirius goes.

***

The next morning Remus isn’t in the Great Hall for breakfast or in the library. Sirius surmises that he’s probably still in the infirmary.

Three times he makes it to the infirmary doors before turning around and retreating. He’s not sure what to say to Remus. And he’s also pretty sure Remus doesn’t want him there, that is what he had said, right? But he’s also really worried about him. But he’s also aware that him being worried about Remus is exactly what Remus doesn’t want. But he doesn’t know if he can walk in there and see Remus laying in a hospital bed and say anything to him that doesn’t sound like a disguised, “I’m worried about you.”

He’s not sure what to say to Remus.

His thoughts work in circles like this as he trudges his own circular path through the castle; to the infirmary doors and then back to the Great Hall and then back to the infirmary doors and so on until he admits defeat —what a Gryffindor he is, he can’t even build up the courage to open a door— and veers off to Gryffindor tower.

James is the only one in the dorm room. Peter is probably off with Gillian doing Merlin knows what. Probably making out on top of the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall for everyone to see, Sirius thinks bitterly.

“What’s wrong with you?” James asks when Sirius slams the door behind him.

“Nothing,” Sirius says automatically and James rolls his eyes.

Sirius throws himself onto his bed and stews in silence for a few minutes before flipping over to face James. 

“James,” he says quietly, “can I ask you something?”

James looks over at him warily, clearly confused by the sudden change of tone. “Yeah…” he says carefully.

“How did you know you liked Lily?”

“Oh,” James sounds surprised, “uh, I don’t know, I guess I just found myself wanting to hang out with her all the time. I mean, don’t get me wrong, the thought of being alone with her scared me, made me sick to my stomach sometimes, but it was also, I don’t know… exciting? She makes everything feel more exciting. And when I read something interesting or hear a good song or a funny joke I find myself thinking, ‘what would Lily think of that?’ And sometimes I just look at her and feel overwhelmed like, ‘wow this person exists at the same time I do.’”

James looks over at Sirius, suddenly hesitant, “I don’t know, you probably think that all sounds disgustingly girly.”

Sirius slowly shakes his head. “No,” he says softly and then, “James?”

“Yeah?”

“I think— I think I might like someone,” he says quietly.

“Daisy Hookum,” James says, nodding knowingly.

“What?” Sirius laughs, “No. She hates me! Haven't you seen the death glares she sends me?”

“I’m sure she doesn’t hate you…”

“Oh Merlin, I forgot who I’m talking to, of course you think she’s in love with me.”

“If that’s a slight against Lily and I, I’ll have you know she’s warming up to me.”

“Impressing her with your cleaning skills, are you?”

“Actually, yes, just yesterday she said I was an impressive mopper.” 

Sirius snorts. “Mate, I’m pretty sure that’s a ploy to get you to do all the mopping so she doesn’t have to.”

James tilts his head thoughtfully before shaking it clear. “So,” he says, “you like someone…”

“Yeah.”

“And it’s not Daisy Hookum?”

Sirius snorts. “No.”

“Who then?”

Sirius bites the inside of his cheek. Somewhere the second hand of a clock is tick, tick, ticking. “You don’t have a guess?”

“Daisy was my guess.”

Sirius absentmindedly pushes back his cuticles. The second hand pauses, time freezes, Sirius breathes. “It’s not a girl.”

Sirius holds his breath as he looks up and studies James’ reaction, but there’s no flash of disgust, no repulse in his eyes. James looks unphased, lost in thought. “It’s not— is it me?”

Sirius grimaces. “Ew, no, definitely not.”

“Hey!” James says, throwing a pillow at him, “I take offense to that actually.”

Sirius catches the pillow. He lays it on his lap, fluffing out the edges so he doesn’t have to look at James. He breathes. In. Out. “It’s Remus.”

When he looks up, James is already looking at him. “You like Remus,” he repeats. 

“Yeah.”

James nods once. He looks like he’s trying to hold back a smile. “And do you know— does he like you?”

“Yeah, I think so. Or, well, I’m not sure anymore.”

James furrows his brows. “What does that mean?”

Sirius hesitates only a couple seconds before telling James everything. From the first day in the library to the blowout in the infirmary. And James listens. 

When Sirius finishes, James is silent for a couple minutes.

“Sirius, everyone fights. It’s not—” he shakes his head, “He was probably just embarrassed or something. You should talk to him.” 

“But what if I try to talk to him and he tells me to go away again?” Sirius looks down at his hands. “I don’t want him to tell me to go away again.”

James gets up from his bed and walks over to sit next to Sirius on his. “Sirius,” James sighs but it’s not out of frustration or annoyance, it’s gentle and solicitous like a comforting rub on the back, “One fight doesn't mean he doesn’t like you anymore. You can’t let your worries about how he might react stop you from actually talking to him. You have to talk to him.”

“I know,” Sirius says, voice small.

“Soon.”

“I know.”

James pulls him in, tucks him under his arm, squeezes. Sirius lets himself sink into it. 

***

The next morning Sirius wakes up determined. His plan is this: He’s going to march right up to the Ravenclaw table and demand Remus talk to him or if Remus isn’t there, he’ll march to the infirmary or, if he’s not there, the library or, if he’s not there either, the Ravenclaw tower, where he’ll stand outside the door until someone lets him in because there’s no fucking way he’s solving that fucking riddle. But he’s going to talk to Remus. And he’s going to say something that will make it all better. He’s not exactly sure what that will be yet. He hasn’t gotten that far in his planning.

But he doesn’t even make it to the Great Hall before a hand wraps around his wrist and pulls him into an empty classroom. The door shuts behind him and Sirius looks up to find Remus. His arm is no longer in a sling, but there’s still bags under his eyes, and there’s a fresh scar on his forehead where the bandage used to be. 

When he realizes he’s staring, he quickly looks away.

“I’m sorry,” Remus blurts out.

Sirius startles. His eyes snap back to Remus. Sure, he hadn’t gotten very far in his planning, but this is not at all how he had expected it to go.

“I shouldn’t have acted the way I did. I just— I don’t know, I guess I was scared.”

“Scared of what?”

Remus shakes his head. “I don’t know if scared is the right word. I just— I spend a lot of time in the infirmary, hence the scars. And my ex, Dirk, used to make me feel bad about,” he shakes his head, “about the scars. And I woke up and you were there and I was just scared.”

Sirius steps forward. “Remus, I wouldn’t—”

“I wasn’t saying you would,” Remus cuts him off hurriedly, “and it’s not an excuse. I’m just trying to explain. And I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’m sorry too.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about,” Remus protests.

Sirius isn’t sure what to say to that so he reaches out to grab Remus’ hand. He rubs his thumb softly across the scar on the back of Remus’ palm. 

Remus stares at their hands for a beat before looking back up at Sirius. “Do you still want me to meet your friends?” There’s something akin to hope in Remus’ voice.

Sirius bites his lip to keep a stupid smile from spreading across his face. “Yeah,” and then, “I told James about us.”

“Us?” Remus’ eyes dance. 

“Yeah.”

Remus smiles mischievously down at him. “What did you tell him? That we hang out?”

“Yeah, or, well, no. He guessed that a while ago. I told him that I— that I like you.”

Remus lets out a small laugh.

“What?” Sirius tenses. 

“Nothing,” Remus smiles, dropping their clasped hands in favor of reaching out to tuck a strand of Sirius’ hair behind his ear, “I just can’t believe you told James you liked me before you told me you liked me.”

“Well, you never—” Sirius shuts his mouth, blushing at the assumption he was about to make.

Remus hums. “Good point,” he says, moving forward and walking Sirius backwards until his back hits the wall with a small thud. “Sirius Black,” Remus whispers, “I really, really like you.”

Sirius shivers all the way down to his toes.

***

The next weekend before going to Hogsmeade, Remus joins Sirius, James, and Gillian as they watch Peter’s chess game. It isn’t exactly riveting, but Sirius gets a kick out of the queen using her chair to absolutely deck the other pieces. “Totally barbaric!” Sirius whispers enthusiastically into Remus’ ear. Remus continues to look straight ahead, watching the game, but he smiles, tongue in cheek.

Under the table, Sirius and Remus hold hands. It’s not the same as holding hands on top of the table, but it still makes all the nerve endings in Sirius’ stomach fire off in one fell swoop. 

In the end, Peter wins and all four of them whoop and cheer, James by far the loudest of the four. By how hard he’s cheering you’d think they’d been watching the Quidditch World Cup and not Peter’s monthly chess championship. 

Gillian kisses Peter on the cheek, congratulates him, and then rushes off to work on her Charms project. Peter watches her go and once she's out of sight James claps him on the back and says, “Alright, first round’s on me.” And they all start heading over to Hogsmeade.

Sirius is a little worried about how Remus will fit in; whether Remus will feel discluded, whether Peter will find it odd that he invited Remus, whether James will overcompensate out of worry that Remus might feel left out and instead direct all his attention on to Remus and make Remus feel overwhelmed. But Remus fits in easily. He matches their repertoire. He’s lively and bright and unsuspectingly witty and he makes them all laugh. It’s like they had all been friends since first year. And the smile on Remus’ face as he talks to his friends causes something warm to erupt and burrow itself deep within Sirius chest, like a cracked yolk over his ribcage. Sirius squeezes Remus’ hand under the table. Remus squeezes it back.

“So,” Remus says, putting his drink down and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “I’m guessing you two are responsible for the portraits singing dirty pub songs since Sirius was with me when it happened.”

Sirius looks over at Peter. He still hasn’t gotten the chance to talk to him about Remus. But it’s as if Peter didn’t even hear the end of Remus’ sentence, since he just smiles slyly and looks over at James.

“Yeah,” James says, “I now know more about singing charms than any wizard would ever need to. And it’s not even useful anymore because what could beat making all the portraits in Hogwarts sing?”

“Making all the gargoyles sing?” Peter offers. 

“All the ghosts,” Sirius says. 

“The giant squid.” 

They all turn to look at Remus, jaws suspended. 

“Mister Prefect,” James says slowly, in awe. Sirius smiles up at Remus. There’s a pop and crackle sensation in his stomach like there’s a fire growing in the pit of his gut. 

Peter sets down his drink and licks his lips. “So,” he says, “how long have you two been dating?”

Sirius spits out his drink. His stomach drops with a whoosh, the fire blinking out.

“Peter!” James cries, scandalized. 

“I’m sorry. Was that not— Was that supposed to be a secret?”

“You knew?” Sirius splutters.

Peter shrugs. “Not for sure. Well, until now. But it was kinda obvious.”

“Obvious?!” James and Sirius cry at the same time.

Peter shrugs again. “Yeah, I mean you guys have been acting weird, like at Lily’s party. And Sirius is always looking over at the Ravenclaw table and fretting over Remus and ‘Is it just me or does he look more pale to you guys too?’ and ‘Is that a new sweater? I don’t think I’ve seen that sweater before.’” Sirius opens his mouth to protest, but Peter continues. “And you two are totally playing footsie under the table right now. Sirius kicked me in the shin trying to get his ankle around Remus’. And this whole time Sirius has been looking at Remus like he hung the moon or something.”

“Am not!” Sirius protests, looking over at Remus, who is looking down at him with a smirk and glittering eyes, the smug bastard.

“I didn’t know until a few days ago,” James says, completely defeated and to no one in particular. 

Peter claps him on the shoulder. “Well mate, you are pretty oblivious.”

James shrugs off his hand, muttering incomprehensibly. 

Sirius looks over at Peter tentatively. “So,” Sirius says, voice quieter, “you don’t care?”

Peter looks over at him, a bit surprised. “No. It doesn’t make a difference to me whether you’re g—”

“Well, I don’t know about that,” Sirius quickly cuts him off. “I just—” his eyes flicker over to Remus before returning back to Peter, “I just know that I like Remus.”

Under the table, Remus squeezes his hand reassuringly. 

“That’s alright,” James says quickly.

Peter nods along. “‘Course.”

“Alright,” Remus says, hands slapping the table as he stands up, “next round is on me.”

As he walks away, James leans in conspiratorially, “I like that one,” he says pointing at Remus’ retreating figure. Peter nods in agreement.

Sirius feels his cheeks heat up. 

James smiles as he leans back in his chair. “Giant squid,” he whispers to himself, shaking his head, still in awe.

***

“We’re going to be late to Transfiguration.”

“Don’t care,” Remus says as he moves forward to crowd Sirius against the shelving of cleaning supplies in the second floor broom closet. 

“But you’re a prefect.”

Remus rolls his eyes. He takes another step toward Sirius, closing the little space left between them. He presses against him, one leg nudging Sirius’ knees apart. 

Sirius looks up at him and meets Remus’ dark, heavy-lidded eyes. Sirius feels a shiver travel down his spine like dominos on his vertebrae, tick, tick, tick , until they land in a heap in his stomach, until his stomach gives out and his legs too, until he’s putty on the floor, waiting for Remus to scoop him up. 

“Don’t care,” Remus mumbles against his lips. His hand comes up to slide under Sirius’ dress shirt and— fuck, his hands are cold . Sirius jerks back, his head hitting the shelving. A box of Winky Crockett’s Elbow Grease clatters to the floor. Sirius looks down at it and laughs. 

Remus pulls back, but only enough to look down at the box of Winky Crockett’s Elbow Grease. When his eyes flicker back to Sirius he frowns at him. “What's so funny?”

Sirius shakes his head, stifling his laughter. “Your hands are cold,” Sirius breathes.

Remus’ eyebrows pinch together. His hands start to fall from Sirius’ waist. Sirius quickly uses his own hands to pull them back up. He leans forward and tilts his head up to press his mouth against Remus’. 

Remus is caught off guard. It’s just lips on lips. But then Remus breaks, a stifled sound escaping his throat and his hands snake around Sirius’ naked torso to grip his lower back and pull their bodies flush against each other. Remus opens his mouth, hungrily. Their tongues slid over each other. Sirius feels dizzy. And his hands reach up to wrap around Remus’ neck, steadying himself. 

The bell rings to indicate the end of break, but Remus leans forward, mouth warm and insistent, his hands crawling further up Sirius’ back, completely unbothered by things as inconsequential as the class bell.

“Merlin,” Sirius pants as he breaks for air, “you are a terrible prefect.”

“You never shut up, do you?” Remus ducks down to nip at Sirius’ lip as his leg nudges Sirius’ knees further apart. And Sirius whimpers, he fucking whimpers.

In the end, they are late for Transfiguration. But only by a few minutes. Professor McGonagall narrows her eyes at them and frowns, taking in their rumpled hair and hurriedly tucked in shirts, and flushed cheeks, which are only getting redder under her scrutiny. She lets them off easy though, just an extra six inches added to their homework assignment. Sirius already can’t wait to work on it with a Remus in the library. And wow, that’s a sentence he never thought would cross his mind. 

***

“My middle name is John,” Remus whispers. His boot knocks against Sirius’ from where they are sprawled out on the grass. 

“I can speak fluent French.”

Remus turns his head to look at him through the blades of grass between them. “That’s hot,” he says.

“Plus sexy que ton deuxième prénom?” Hotter than your middle name?

“Yeah,” Remus sighs, the blades of glass swaying with his breath, “I’m definitely gay.”

“Was that your turn?” Sirius asks cheekily, “Because I already knew that. Tu peux faire mieux que ça, mon beau.” You can do better than that, my beautiful one.

“Fuck,” Remus mutters. Sirius laughs and rolls himself over so his upper body is on top of Remus, his elbows propping himself up on Remus’ chest.

He leans down, his black hair cascading around Remus’ face. “Tu aimes quand je parle français?” Do you like it when I speak French?

Remus splutters incomprehensibly. “My favorite color is green,” he finally manages to spit out.

Sirius ducks down to laugh into Remus’ chest. Remus grins down at him, carding his fingers through Sirius’ hair.

It has become their thing; swapping non-secrets while rolling around on the grassy knolls, electricity flowing through them at charged glances and the hushed tones of whispers and reverberating laughter and the brushes of exposed ankles and elbows that send shocks up their extremities.

It’s just them, hidden behind the greenhouse walls; a secret alcove carved out for the two of them.

Or at least it was.

“Sirius!”

Sirius groans. He looks over his shoulder at James running towards them, cloak billowing in the wind behind him. The downside of having his friends know about Remus was that they knew where to find him on lazy afternoons.

He looks back down at Remus. His face is scrunched up. His eyes are closed shut. “You okay?”

“Mm,” Remus mumbles, “just a headache.”

Sirius frowns down at him, but doesn’t get a chance to inquire more.

“Guess what?” James puffs, finally reaching them. 

Sirius looks up at James, squinting at the afternoon sun glowing behind him. He bites his tongue to keep from snapping at him. “What?” he says evenly and with an impressive amount of self control.

“Hufflepuff just beat Ravenclaw! The whole thing was over in like ten minutes. Ravenclaw didn’t even get a single point. They were totally annihilated!” James smiles zealously down at them before grimacing and hesitatingly looking over at Remus. “Sorry, mate.”

Remus waves him off with the hand not currently buried in Sirius’ hair.

“And you came all the way down here to tell us that because…” Sirius trails off.

James looks at him incredulously. “Because, ” he says, “the last quidditch game of the year is tomorrow, us versus Slytherin. And Ravenclaw was our biggest competition for winning the quidditch cup, but they just blew it.” James winces. “Sorry,” he says to Remus, who again waves him off. James turns back to Sirius and continues, “And Slytherin has two of their best players benched for foul play and we only need 50 points to surpass Ravenclaw and win the quidditch cup!”

“Okay…” Sirius drawls.

“So we're throwing a victory party after the game tomorrow.”

Sirius perks up at that. He does love a good party. But still, he can’t help but laugh. “Don’t you think it’s a bit premature to already be planning a victory party?”

“Did you not hear anything I just said?”

Sirius rolls his eyes in place of an answer and James eagerly turns his attention to Remus. “You’re coming, right, Remus?”

“What? To celebrate Gryffindor beating Ravenclaw?”

James’ face pinches. “Well—” he starts and gets nowhere.

Sirius snorts. 

“Just messing with you,” Remus smirks, “I’ll come.”

James smiles sheepishly at him before turning back to Sirius, demeanor back to business. “Right, so we are gonna need booze and lots of it. Peter has chess club so I’m gonna need your help tonight. I’ll do it, but I’ll need you to sneak me out of the tunn—”

Remus jokingly covers his ears. “I must warn you, I am a prefect,” he says.

Sirius turns to him, a devilish grin on his face. “It wasn’t very prefect of you to sneak me into the prefect’s bathroom last night.” 

Now it’s James’ turn to cover his ears. “Gah, I’m leaving, I’m leaving. See you tonight,” he calls to Sirius over his shoulder as he scampers off.

Sirius sinks back down onto Remus’ chest, his hand reaching down to trace the patterns of Remus’ sweater with his fingertips. “Bon, où en étions-nous?” Now, where were we?

***

During their six years at Hogwarts, James, Peter, and Sirius have found several secret passages within the castle.

The one that leads to The Hog Head’s storage room, however, only opens from one side. They had learned this the hard way when, during their first trip, they had to walk all the way back through the tunnel, sneak out of the storage room, walk back to Hogwarts, and slip back into the castle. Luckily they had James’ invisibility cloak and thus weren't caught roaming the Hogwarts grounds at two in the morning. But now one of them always stays back to open the passage.

Therefore, since James left an hour ago, with a pocket full of cash (they always paid, leaving money in the tip jar or tucked between bottles on the shelves), Sirius has the job of meeting him to open the fourth floor mirror where the tunnel leading to The Hog’s Head begins.

Sirius is running late though.

He's speed walking underneath the invisibility cloak, practically running down the halls, when he comes to a sudden halt. There's whispers from around the corridor. Cautiously, he walks forward, much slower than before.

The voices get louder as he makes his way to the grand staircase and when he rounds the corner next to the second floor girl’s bathroom, he recognizes Madam Pomfrey in her red dress and white cloth cap standing further down the hall. But her back is to him, so he can’t see who she is talking to.

Slowly, so as to not be heard under the cloak, he approaches them. His plan is to just slip past them and continue on to the fourth floor mirror. He’s already running late and if he turns around now and takes the long way, he’ll be really late and James is likely already worried that he has forgotten about him. 

“There’s still a few days before the full,” he hears Pomfrey say as he inches closer, “Usually your symptoms don’t start till the day before.”

“Everyone gets headaches, Madam. It probably has nothing to do with the moon.” Sirius stops short. That’s Remus’ voice. What are they talking about? The full? Symptoms? The moon?

Pomfrey hums. “Still, I wish you would have told me when the symptoms started. Not hours afterwards.”

“Sorry for waking you. I didn’t—”

Pomfrey turns on her heel and starts walking away. And if he wasn’t sure before, he is now. There’s Remus. In a rumpled sweater and messy curls and face alarmingly pale and a hand rubbing at his temple. “None of that, Remus. Come on, let's get you some pepperup potion.”

Remus hurries to catch up with her. “Thank you, Madam.”

“Remus, I tell you every month. Call me Poppy.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t do that,” is the last thing Sirius hears them say as they disappear down the winding hallways. He stands there in the empty corridor watching the vacant space he had last seen their retreating figures. It’s a minute or so later before he remembers James.

“Where have you been?” James huffs when Sirius finally opens the passageway.

“There was an obstacle.” His voice comes out distracted and far away.

James looks at him through round, wire-framed spectacles. “You okay?”

“Course,” Sirius says, “I had the cloak.”

James' eyes flicker back and forth, searching Sirius' face. Whatever he's looking for he doesn't find. He nods once. “Right, well you’re holding this,” he passes Sirius a bag sagging with the weight of a dozen or so bottles, “it’s bloody heavy and I can’t risk hurting my shoulder before the game tomorrow.”

Sirius rolls his eyes, but he takes the bag and they both walk back to Gryffindor under the cloak. 

***

Gryffindor wins and no one is more ecstatic about it than James.

He’s three drinks in and has taken it upon himself to greet everyone at the party, with a jaunty, “Gryffindor!” The liquor in his cup sloshes precariously, some escaping to dot the carpet, as he raises it up in a toast and then winds himself around the crowd to greet the next person. 

Sirius watches him from the corner where he and Marlene are heading a beer pong tournament. Marlene and Daisy are winning. Mary, Sirius’ partner, is terrible at aiming, but excellent at downing beer, so there’s that. 

At some squeaks and the sound of shoes skidding on the floor, Sirius looks up to find James pushing his way through the crowd to the portrait hole door where Lily has just walked through. “Gryffindor!” James shouts loudly, right into her face. 

Lily’s eyebrows shoot up, but she smiles up at him. Shaking her head, she carefully takes the cup from his hand, takes a sip, and walks off. James follows her eagerly like a lost dog. And that’s when he spots Remus ducking through the portrait hole.

“I forfeit,” he says, dropping the ping pong ball on the table.

“Boo!” Marlene shouts, but Sirius is already across the room. Mary shrugs and picks up the last cup left on their side and downs it.

“Hi,” Sirius says when he reaches Remus.

“Hi,” Remus smiles at him and the beer —and maybe something else— sloshes warmly in Sirius’ stomach. 

“Want a drink?”

“Sure.”

Sirius grabs a hold of Remus' wrist and guides him through the maze of people. “This way,” he says, “Just don’t drink the punch, Peter made it.”

“I heard that!” Peter yells from somewhere amongst the crowd.

They get Remus a drink. And then another. And another. And the rest of the night goes by in a bit of a haze. They’re jumping and screaming and laughing and dancing. Shining Star is playing for the fifth time, James’ doing, Sirius is sure, and Peter jumps up on the coffee table. His necktie has found itself secured haphazardly around his forehead and his sleeves of his dress shirt are carelessly pushed up to his elbows. 

“You’re shining star / No matter who you are / Shining bright to see ” he sings pointing out to the crowd in a slow sprinkler motion, his other hand on his waist, his hips rocking back and forth. Gillian tries, to no avail, to get him down. The whole thing is ridiculous and makes Sirius jump up and down and shout in glee. He turns to look at Remus, who is already looking at him, eyes bright and full of mirth. You’re a shining star / No matter who you are / Shining bright to see

The Who comes on next and James joins Peter on the table. Lily rolls her eyes, but Sirius doesn’t miss the smile on her face. Everyone is dancing around them now. 

Why don’t you all f-fade away / Talkin’ ‘bout my generation

And because no one is paying them much attention he lets his hand trail down Remus’ chest, along his waist, his fingers teasingly slip under Remus’ sweater, gracing along the warm skin of Remus’ stomach only to retreat as he jumps and sways to the music. And Remus jumps and sways with him. 

The song ends and Sirius and Remus find their way back to the drinks table. Sirius is filling up Remus’ cup with more Dragon Scale. “Can you believe Peter got up on the table?” he asks Remus. 

Remus doesn’t answer. Sirius looks up at him, but Remus is frozen, eyes trained somewhere behind Sirius’ shoulder. Sirius turns around to find a lanky, dirty blonde boy pushing his way through the crowd right towards them. Dirk Cresswell.

Sirius turns back to Remus at the same time that Dirk sidles up right next to them. Up close Dirk’s face looks quite skeletal, all sharp lines and stony features. And his eyes are lifeless and glassy and bloodshot from alcohol and they drift over to Sirius, slow and unsurely. He smiles and it feels plastered and unnatural.

“Can I get some of that?” he nods his chin at the bottle of Dragon Scale still in Sirius’ hand.

Sirius hesitates before handing it over. His eyes dart over to Remus, but his eyes are set on the floor.

Dirk takes a swig of the ale straight from the bottle. He turns to Remus. “Loosen up, Remus.”

Remus’ eyes snap up. “What do you want, Dirk?”

“Merlin, someone's in a mood. You always were like that though. What is it… about three days before the big night?”

“Dirk,” Remus says warningly.

Dirk takes another messy swig from the bottle. A bit of the ale drips down his chin. He doesn’t bother to wipe it off as he turns back to Sirius. “Has he told you yet? About the scars?”

Sirius looks over at Remus, but his eyes are once again trained on the ground. 

Dirk continues. “Where he goes every month? Once a month?” 

“That’s enough, Dirk,” Remus growls. 

Dirk looks pleasantly over at Remus. “Oh, so loverboy doesn’t know about your little problem? Afraid you’ll scare him away?”

Remus’ eyes flick over to Sirius. There’s fear in them and Sirius doesn’t know what to do. He feels like he’s slowly being encased in molasses. He feels it drip down his back —thick and heavy— seeping into his bones and hardening within his tendons, rendering him useless and immobile.

Lily, appearing out of nowhere, steps between Remus and Dirk. “Time to leave, Dirk.” Her voice is cold and firm and her eyes match her tone.

Dirk laughs all sickly saccharine and out of place and if Sirius wasn’t frozen he’d shiver.

“Lily to the rescue!” Dirk cheers darkly. He takes a step forward, closer to Lily. Sirius feels like he should say something, do something, but his feet are stuck to the floor, his jaw is locked.

And then James is there pushing at Dirk’s chest, ordering him out. Dirk raises his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. I’m going,” he says. He trips over his feet a few times, disoriented from the alcohol, but he makes it through the portrait hole. 

Sirius looks back over at Remus, but finds he’s no longer next to him. Remus is already halfway across the room, winding through the crowd. 

James nudges him. “Go,” he says. And it breaks the spell; The crystallized molasses splinters and cracks, setting his bones free. Sirius stumbles forward. He weaves his way through the crowd, his eyes following Remus as he walks up the dormitory stairs and into Sirius’ room. 

***

Sirius closes the door behind him, muffling the sounds of the party downstairs.

Remus is sitting on his bed, his back to Sirius. He doesn’t turn at the sound of Sirius approaching. 

“Sorry,” Remus says, staring straight ahead, out the window, at the night sky. “Dirk is…”

“Dirk’s an areshole,” Sirius finishes.

Remus grunts in agreement.

Sirius watches Remus: his fidgeting fingers picking at Sirius’ sheets, the way his chest sinks with every breath, his vacant eyes. And then he follows Remus’ gaze and turns to look out the window, at the night sky, the stars, the moon . 

He realizes, with a jolt, that the window is open. With a rush, as if it didn’t exist until he had noticed it, the chill of the night sky wraps over him like an itchy blanket. He can see his and Remus’ exhaled breaths before him, eddies on the night air. They twist and curl before smoothing out, reaching towards each other like misty, white tendrils before vanishing like two hands reaching, reaching and then collapsing. He can’t stand it. He walks over to shut the window close.

He turns. Remus is still not looking at him. He sighs and moves to sit down next to Remus, who teeters slightly at the added weight on the mattress. 

“Listen,” Sirius says, his voice an ice pick chipping away at the frozen air between them, “about what Dirk said…”

Besides him Remus tenses. “I realize you must have questions,” Remus says, voice low, the way cold air sinks, retreating against the harsh brightness of warmth.

“I think I know,” Sirius says, voice quiet.

Remus’ eyebrows pinch together, he stares down at his hands, at his wrists where silver scars lap around his bones. He shakes his head slowly.

“Last night when I was meeting James to get the booze, I overheard you and Pomfrey talking about the moon and with what Dirk said…”

Remus blinks rapidly down at his hands, his fingernails digging into his nail beds. His inhale and exhale are muted, but they take up all the sound in the room. “And now you want out,” he says to his hands. His voice is relenting, understanding, there’s no fight behind his words and that’s what scares Sirius the most.

“What?” Sirius turns so his frame is facing Remus, “No. Remus, I don’t care that you’re a—”

“Don’t—” Remus cuts him off. And then quieter: “Don’t say it.”

Sirius is struck silent. He reaches over to cover Remus’ hands with his own, if only to stop him from violently tearing at his cuticles. Remus hands stills, but he doesn’t pull away.

“Lily found out on her own,” Remus whispers to the frigid air, “but Dirk’s the only one I’ve ever told myself. And well, you saw how well that went.” Sirius bites his lip, Remus continues. “I wanted to tell you myself. But I couldn’t. I was scared, and I just—” he shakes his head.

“Remus,” Sirius starts, but the words are lost on his tongue.

“I can go.” Remus stands up so suddenly it makes Sirius’ head spin. He feels lightheaded and faint. A vignette forms around his field of vision, closing in on Remus' retreating figure.

“What? Why would you go?”

“You probably want some space from me.” Remus’ left shoe inches closer to the door. Sirius reaches out to grab a hold of Remus’ sweater sleeve. “Stay.”

Remus looks uncomfortable and small. Sirius has never seen him like this. All the golden light is drained from him.

Remus eyes the door. “I don’t really feel like going back to the party.”

“Then don’t,” Sirius says. Still holding on to Remus’ sleeve, he scoots back on the bed and lifts his comforter. “Stay.”

Remus stands frozen.

Sirius tugs on his sleeve and Remus moves forward slowly. All his movements are slow: sinking onto the mattress, pulling the blanket over him, resting his curls on the pillow. Sirius moves slowly too: tucking the ends of the blanket around Remus, easing Remus’ curls off his forehead and behind his ear, reaching forward tentatively into the dark, his warm fingers melting Remus’ iced joints until he relaxes back into him. And somewhere within the bitter, night air they build their own apricity.

***

Four mornings later, Sirius is at Remus' bedside when he blinks awake.

“Sirius?” Remus says groggily. 

“Hi,” Sirius says.

They hadn’t discussed this. Yesterday Remus had told him he was going to go to Pomfrey’s that night. He hadn’t offered anything more, but they both were aware of the moon, full and faded by the afternoon sun but still high in the sky like a bad taste that sticks to the roof of your mouth and never truly goes away. Or the white of a wisdom tooth peeking out behind your gums; a bite of pain pulsating in the back of the mouth, demanding it’s presence be known. And Sirius hadn’t pushed it.

But he couldn’t stay tucked in the comfort of his own bed, shrouded in the tranquility of the morning sun, when he knew Remus would be here, bandaged up and hurting.

“What are you—” Remus starts.

“Look what I brought,” Sirius interrupts, ducking down to grab the black vinyl sleeve from beneath his chair. “I nicked it from James. So it’s probably horribly sentimental, but…” he shrugs, trailing off.

Remus watches him from behind long, dusty eyelashes. Finally, he scoots over, holds up the blanket. “Alright, come on then.”

Sirius settles in next to him, careful not to bang against any of Remus’ bandages. He uses a spell Remus taught him to make the record spin and play without a needle. It sounds better on the muggle machine, but this will do. 

They lay there together, inching closer and closer with soft rustles of linen. They’re both quiet as the record plays and the morning sun shines through the window and blankets them in gold. 

It’s a little bit funny, this feeling inside / I’m not one of those who can easily hide / I don’t have much money, but, boy if I did / I’d buy a big house where we both could live

When the record, upon finishing, comes to a still, Sirius waves his wand and it slides back into its sleeve and they lay there in silence, just listening to each other breathe. 

It’s a few minutes before either one of them speaks, words tumbling out and over each other:  “I’m a werewolf,” and, “I think I more than like you.”

Remus lets out a startled laugh. “What?”

“I more than like you,” Sirius repeats, dropping the uncertainty.

Remus bites the inside of his cheek. “Did you hear what I said?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

Sirius turns to face Remus. His hand comes up to tuck a curl behind Remus’ ear. “And, ” he says, “I’m glad you trust me enough to tell me. And I’m sorry you have to go through this. And I’m sorry people like Dirk Cresswell exist.”

Remus’ eyes search Sirius’ face. He swallows. “You don’t have questions?”

Sirius shrugs. “Sure, but only when you’re ready. You don’t owe me anything, Remus.”

“You don’t owe me anything either. It’s okay if you want out. I won’t be mad. I know a werewolf boyfriend isn’t exactly ideal.”

“Boyfriends now, are we?” Sirius teases. 

Remus gives him an incredulous look, all scrunched eyebrows and tilted head.

“Well,” Sirius contends, “you never said.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Remus smiles. And then his face darkens, “But seriously—”

“Remus?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up and tell me how much you like me.”

“I don’t like you,” Remus says. He reaches down to find Sirius’ hand. He squeezes it. “I more than like you.”

***

An hour later, Madam Pomfrey pokes her head around the hospital curtain and finds two boys fast asleep pressed together in the small hospital bed, a mess of tangled limbs and rumpled sheets scrunched and kicked to their ankles. All rosy cheeks and fluttering eyelashes and breaths slow and in sync.

With a smile, she pulls the curtain close, and lets them be.